


Square Peg, Round Hole

by Pigeonpost



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha Peter, Author Derek, BDSM overtones, Businessman Stiles, Dark Romance/Angst/Comedy/Contempoary AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Human Lydia, Human Stiles, Light Dom/sub, M/M, M/M Sex, Mentions Paige and Kate, Morally Ambiguous Peter, OOC, Only Derek comes from Beacon Hills, Unbeta'd, non Canon, set in New York, vampires and werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-11-04 10:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 95,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10988685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pigeonpost/pseuds/Pigeonpost
Summary: Twenty years ago werewolves and vampires came out and demanded their civil rights, since then things haven't gone so good. Most live in squalor, poverty, are poorly educated, exploited and discriminated against. Stiles Stilinski runs SIS - Stilinski's Integration Services offering a technology based education program to vamps and werewolves wanting to have a chance at intergrating into mainstream society. Stiles is approached by born werewolf Derek Hale and accepts him as a client, unaware that neither of their lives will ever be the same.I do not give permission for a part or whole of this work to  be displayed or discussed anywhere but on A03. Thank you.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles swung his head impatiently to the left and right scanning the tightly packed rows of cars with narrowed whisky colored eyes."Damn! Doesn't it always fall true that when you are running late there isn't one decent parking space in the whole damn lot."

The young, frantic, time-starved driver snapped his head from side to side as he cruised down the rows of filled, designated spaces praying he could find just one small area large enough to squeak in to. He wasn't above claiming a portion of sidewalk between two other cars, encroaching half on each of their places if he thought it would leave enough wiggle room for his door to open and his body to squirm free.

"AHA!"

On the third full pass, the ancient, smoky blue jeep finally spotted a small space in the very last row. It was a half size spot intended for a motorbike or scooter but the owner of the jeep was not above wedging in and disregarding the nasty notes such an act would cause to appear on his windshield. Wasting no more time, he grabbed his nearly-new briefcase off the seat next to him and he leapt out. If the jeep received another dent, it would hardly be noticeable among so many and the plethora of duck tape.

Bates, the owner and sole employee of Bates Parking Lot and Secure Parking Services had seen the jeep's arrival and he waited patiently by the gate for the slender, pale young man who was always in a frantic hurry. If it hadn't been for the fact that it was broad daylight and he didn't cower under concealing clothing, a hat and dark glasses, he'd suspect he was a vampire.

He hated vampires, rotten tippers and they didn't sparkle no matter what that stupid novel said.

Within moments, as expected, the driver zipped by, tossed his keys and thrust a five spot towards the attendant and with a dismissive wave of his hand, was gone. Bates shook his head and stuck both items in his pocket of his blue jeans before heading back to his office and the Big Nutts magazine he was thumbing through.

As for the driver, he darted through the crowded streets toward the corner of Sixteenth and Vine where, for once, luck smiled on him and the traffic light allowed him to cross without pause. Just two more blocks and he was within striking distance of his target, the May Flower Cafe, it's name always conjured up a picture of starving pilgrim fathers. When he reached the alley that ran along side the cafe, he stopped. He took a moment to slow his rapid breathing, smooth his shaggy, dark hair and check his appearance in the reflection of the storefront glass.

As he did when meeting any new prospective client, he took great pains to project a smart, businesslike appearance. His shoes were shined, his black trousers pressed to a razor-sharp crease and his T- shirt was plain white, covered by an open red and white plaid shirt.

Stiles liked a layered look.

The perfect balance of casual -smart and an open shirt said that the wearer was less stuffy than hip. After all. Image was everything.

With his confidence boosted (he was there and there was fuck all he could do to improve the situation), he proceeded to the entrance, pushed open the swinging door and he marched in where he moved from the flow of customers to look around the room. The May Flower wasn't a 'Hostess will seat you' type of establishment but more of a 'grab a booth and hope you'll be served' sort of joint which suited him just fine considering the type of clientele he usually met here. It's style was retro, reminiscent of the old diners of the 1940's and 50's. A black and white tiled floor, a sweeping counter to his left, a kitchen at the back and red vinyl bench seats in booths around melamine topped rectangular tables with chrome, tubular legs. Strip lights hung from the ceiling.

With a grimace of disgust, he could tell that on this day it was a fifty-fifty mix. Half were humans who wore tans, smiles and an air of superiority that said they may have to mingle among the others but that they much preferred the old days when segregation was the accepted law of the land. The new laws (they were hardly new after 10 years, but still) may say they had to dine, share public transport, work, live, shop and exist cheek by jowl with the others, but no-one could force them to like it.They dined on salads, fresh fruits and sandwiches named after old-time movie stars while chatting casually and giving the stink eye to the others.

The other booths were occupied by a quieter sort of customer. They spoke very little beyond placing their orders for rare beef, mugs of blood or the occasional hot fudge sundae. 

Werewolf or vampire, everyone likes chocolate.

The vampires wore the standard, dark sunglasses, hats, concealing clothing and when they did open their mouths, the glint of fang confirmed their status. The werewolves wore jeans, wedged their muscular chests into T-shirts or wife beaters that clung to sculptured muscle and showcased wide shoulders and thick biceps above roped forearms.

There were very good reasons so many werewolves worked construction.

The whole room as pregnant with the sizzling air of sexual tension that might explode at any moment into a frenzy of frantic coupling. There was no denying that vampires and werewolves were the most innately erotic creatures on earth and exuded sex appeal. He furtively adjusted himself in his pants as vampires and werewolves eyed each other with a subtle, wary mistrust and they both did their best to ignore the presence of humans.

Scanning the room, he immediately spotted the man he had come to meet. It wasn't hard. When they spoke on the phone yesterday, the man had described himself. 6ft, raven-haired, lean, muscular with dark stubble. He'd left out devilishly handsome and expressive black brows. He was clearly a werewolf, that was obvious from the raw sex appeal he exuded from every pore of his tanned skin. 

No vampire sported a tan like that and few were as openly ripped.

The man stood out not only in looks, but also in dress. Unlike the other werewolves he wore neither T-shirt nor wife beater but a knitted, plum colored Henley open at the neck and pushed up at the elbows revealing powerful forearms and large hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He looked to be about twenty eight.

The entire illusion was one of a mild--mannered man, but Stiles knew it WAS illusion, both werewolves and vampires didn't earn their dangerous reputations for nothing. With a slight shake of his head that questioned the state of the world, he slapped on a gregarious smile and he hurried over to the table where the man slid gracefully to his feet to greet him.

"Good afternoon. Mr. Hale?" He pushed out his hand and the werewolf swallowed it in his own. "How do you do?" They shook once and he noted the werewolf's firm grip before he let his hand fall. " I'm Stiles Stilinski and I do apologize for being late. My alarm didn't go off, I couldn't find a parking space and...." He noted the far away look of disinterest begin to creep into the werewolf's pale eyes. "But you aren't interested in all of that, are you? What do you say we sit and get down to business."

Following the instructive wave of Stiles hand, the wolf gracefully lowered himself back into the chair as a shy smile tipped the corners of his mouth. He watched silently while the Stiles opened his briefcase and extracted a large, yellow legal pad and a pen with which to take notes. Apparently they were to cut through all the bullshit pleasantries and get down to their reason for being here. Hale liked that. He wasn't sitting in this bourgeois dump to make a friend. He was here to hopefully change his life. 

With a professional smile, Stiles began as he always did. "All right then. Let's start with the basics. Name, past, etc. and a little bit about why you are interested in my services."

The werewolf waited for a moment while the waiter placed glasses of ice water in front of them and a menu next to their silverware before he pushed the list of the day's specials aside and he set his elbows on the table and leaned in.

"Well, as I told you on the phone, my name is Derek Hale. I was born in a small town about a hundred miles from Sacramento called Beacon Hills. My mother, Talia was an Alpha and my father a Beta. They were killed along with most of my family in an arson attack on our house by human hunters when I was fifteen."

It was a familiar story and Stiles made no comment.

The wolf leaned back. "My older sister Laura and my uncle Peter survived, although he was badly burned. We came to live in New York. Derek shifted in his seat and gazed at a point over Stiles shoulder, the werewolf's voice cracked. "Laura died a few years later."

Stiles was unaccustomed to emotion from a werewolf, there was a school of thought that they didn't have any, obviously wrong. He gave a grunt of sympathy.

Derek's fingers curled around the glass, condensation seeped through his fingers as he lifted it to his lips and took a sip of the chill water before setting the glass back on the table. Stiles watched the bob of the wolf's Adam's Apple in his slender neck.

"My uncle lives in an apartment downtown and we're not close. I've recently learned that my younger sister, Cora survived and is with a pack in South America." Derek continued.

Stiles scribbled down all the factual information and made no note of the tone of flat resignation in the man's voice. He underlined the point that his prospective client was a born werewolf, not that, that was unusual and it was fine with him. Working with the newly-bitten was dicey. They were still wallowing in self-loathing and regret and their frequent whining drove him crazy. What was there to whine about, except of course they were part of a society that treated them like dirt, housed them in ghettos, denied them basic rights, saw to it they existed in poverty and refused them decent education and employment. Not to mention their lack of control on the full-moon.

Perhaps he ought to have more sympathy for their whining.

Just as he had stopped writing, the server returned and Stiles handed him back the menu with the instruction to bring him a double cheeseburger, curly fries and a soda. Derek ordered more coffee and as the waiter removed the excess silverware from the table, Stiles took a moment to study his client. Twenty eight seemed right, four years older than him. The man's face was smooth and wore the taught skin of youth yet his demeanor alluded to a certain maturity.

Despite or because of Derek's status, his eyes were a startling shade of pale green while exuding a depth of experience and wisdom that far exceeded what a younger man would know. Stiles had to admit, his newest client was sexy as hell. Although the Henley and the duck's ass haircut really needed to go. He might encourage the wolf to consider an update.

"Okay, well, how about I tell you a little about my business and then, I have a few more questions for you. Afterwards, we can decide if you want to hire me and I will let you know if I believe you to be a suitable client for my program."

Derek ran a hand over his gelled hair. "Great, great. Sounds good." He then rest his elbow on the table, his chin in the cup of his hand as he listened to Stiles give his well practiced introduction.

"So, as you know, my name is Stiles Stilinski but, please, feel free to call me Stiles. I am the president, founder, CEO and sole employee of SIS - Stilinski Integration Services (his dad was SO proud). I assist vampires and werewolves like yourself who want to integrate into mainstream society. Twenty years ago when the entire werewolf and vampire populations outed themselves and demanded their civil rights, I was still a child (with a morbid curiosity about the supernatural creatures, but he thought it prudent not to mention it). When I grew up I was a business major attending classes at U.C.L.A in Berkeley. Until recently things haven't gone so well for you guys, the few vamps and wolves who signed up for college courses seemed to have a difficult time fitting in. That's when it occurred to me that they needed someone to bring them into the ways of modern society. Tutor them in technology and bring them up to speed in today's world. Most of the vamps I work with were turned decades ago and the wolves are simply lost in the confusing jumble of cell phones and computers."

Derek's hands fell to his lap and he leaned in further. His eyes sparkled and his head bobbed up and down. 

"That's it. That is exactly what I need. Someone to show me the ropes, so to speak. With everything else going on in my life I need someone to take me by the hand and lead me down the congested highway of technology. Someone to teach me about the World Wide Web, Facechat, Snapbook, Instagarbage, Tweeter....."

"Twitter."

Derek slapped a hand over his face. "UGH."

The waiter set the plate of steaming meat, onions and fries on the table. Oblivious to the werewolf's reaction, Stiles rubbed his hands together and he shook out his paper napkin and placed it across his knee. Then, just before taking a big juicy bite, it seemed to occur to him that his tablemate was shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

Stiles laid his burger back on the platter and he waggled his fingers overtop the food as he considered the hypocrisy of a werewolf with a delicate constitution.

"What? Does this bother you? I know that some vamps have a heightened sense of smell and cooked meat can be a bit repulsive to them, is it the same for you? He asked innocently. "It's just that I didn't have time to eat earlier and...."

"No, no, it's fine." Derek made an off-hand gesture. " Werewolves have a keener sense of smell than vampires but please don't let me...."

Stiles chuckled at the sight of the wolf's discomfort, fisting the napkin over his nose and attempting to maintain a shred of dignity and decorum. When Stiles lifted the burger to his mouth Derek's composure crumbled.

"For pities sake you aren't actually going to EAT that!" Derek spluttered out with a look of horror.

Stiles stilled and slowly lowered his food to the platter. Experience had taught him not to make sudden moves around vamps and wolves that could be misinterpreted and provoke defensive or aggressive responses. This was serious and he felt a rightful indignation at having his eating habits questioned by a creature whose meals could possibly be resuscitated by a competent vet. 

One eye narrowed on the werewolf.

Stiles liked his food, not that he was fat, far from it and in fact he had an ongoing dalliance with being rather thin. He couldn't help living on his nerves and it wasn't as if cheese burger and curly fries was all he ate, but was a major food group. He couldn't see how he could accept Hale as a client if he was going to have a melt down every time he ate. He studied the wolf's disgusted expression growing more and more indignant.

"Mr Hale," he began slowly, "I believe that the key to good inter species relations is a certain tolerance and give and take. I don't question the eating habits of my clients and I don't expect them...."

"No!"

Hale's snapped response made Stiles jump. His fingers curled around the can of garlic spray in his pocket, it worked against vampires and was equally effective against werewolves, at least so it said on the can.

"No, dear God no." Derek gestured with the napkin in his hand. "I have no objection to what you eat per se , it's simply have you no respect for your body? The awful smell." He wrinkled up his nose. "The fat, preservatives, salt, chemicals, onions, pickle, cheese and that's without the carbohydrate in the bread and fries."

"There's lettuce."

"It's a heart attack waiting to happen." It's a wonder to me humans survive with what you stuff into your bodies and your so delicate.." Derek shook his head sadly...

Stiles shrugged. "If you don't mind my saying I think you overreacting a little."

The wolf jammed the napkin to his nose.

The penny dropped, Derek wasn't trying to be offensive. Stiles eyes strolled over the wolf's lean, muscular body, no he was a health freak. With a body like that he probably counted every calorie, every carbohydrate and everything he ate was probably pure and organic, no mean feat on the poverty line. Stiles took pity on him and gestured to the server.

"Leave the curly fries but pack up the burger to go."

Minutes later the burger sat on the table in it's own little cardboard box and Stiles tossed curly fries into his mouth. No-one came between him and his curly fries.

Derek relaxed and picked up his end of the conversation while the human fed his face.

"So, where was I? Oh, yes, as I said, I was in my mid teens when most of my family were murdered." There was no bitterness in his tone, only a sad resignation. "I've been alone for some time now."

"No Mrs Hale and lots of mini Hales?" Stiles was old fashioned and believed the wife came before the kids and with looks and a body like Hale's he was bound to have been snapped up.

"No." Hale answered firmly. " I'd like children some day, but it's difficult."

Stiles heart raced, why? The guy had a face and body to die for, could it be he was gay? Stiles had come to the realization on his seventeenth birthday that he was gay, it was his opinion that under the right circumstances most people were. He had loved Lydia Martin since ninth grade and the very sight of her made his heart jump and parts of his body further south, but Increasingly so did the tight, muscled bodies of his male classmates, especially Danny Mahealani, but not his former best friend Scott McCall because that was just.... Ewww. Since then Lydia had become his best platonic friend, relegating Scott to second place because of a girl called Allison, Danny his first lover and half a dozen men had followed since. He needed to know where Derek lay on the subject of sex, purely for information purposes.

"Mr Hale are you gay?" The words were out of Stiles mouth before he thought it and he felt heat creep up his cheeks.

Derek remained unmoved, his brows drew together. "Not especially. Most people describe me as morose, I'm a glass half empty kind of guy."

Stiles eyebrows met his hairline. "Er, no that's not what I meant." Hale gazed at him with interest. Stiles cleared his throat. "Are you um..." He hesitated wishing he'd never begun, "homosexual? It makes no odds to me, or, or to anyone." Stiles smiled tentatively and rushed on. "It's your own affair, but I need to know for the program." His mouth snapped shut.

For a few seconds there was silence as the wolf looked confused and then his face brightened. "Ah, I see. Werewolves make no distinction between the sex of partners except for breeding and even then," he pursed his lips, "some male Omegas can conceive and carry babies."

Stiles raised his hand hurriedly. "Whoa dude, TMI."That was more information than he wanted to know and hurriedly changed the subject. "What is it you do Mr Hale?"

"I write. Supernatural erotic novels, mostly historical. That's one of the reasons I need your services. My publisher is sick of me submitting manuscripts on paper, he wants me to use a computer and submit them digitally."

Stiles nodded as he chewed. He dabbed his napkin to the corner of his mouth to catch the blob of mayo that was oozing out and he gave a wave of his hand as a signal for Derek to go on with his tale. Derek tried not to look directly at the sickening sight of the human who was devouring curly fries like a vulture scarfing a cotton-tailed roadkill. Instead, he delicately sipped his cup of coffee as he gathered his thoughts.

"Well after Laura died, I found myself on my own and writing was the only thing I knew to do. I went to the local bookstore and purchased all of the supernatural novels I could find and I studied up. I was somewhat surprised to discover that Bram Stoker, Anne Rice, Stephenie Meyer and co are apparently not the authorities they fancy themselves to be. Vampires can very much go out in the daylight as long as they wear dark glasses, cover up and there is no way in hell that they would sleep in a coffin. Any pungent smell is repugnant to them and us, silver in the form of bullets, knives etc do not kill us and we don't shrink from religious artifacts. Nether vampire nor werewolves need to kill humans to survive and a stake through the heart kills anyone. To be honest, aside from the super strength, enhanced senses, longevity and heightened healing and the ability to shape shift, I'm pretty much the same as you.."

Oh yes, that was true. Stiles dipped the end of a curly fry into a puddle of ketchup on his plate. The full stomach went a long way towards making him feel much more human. Something that he would not mention to his companion knowing that would be a breech of etiquette. Besides, in his line of work, discretion was the better part of a paycheck.

"I'm sure it has been very difficult for you. I have said more than once that it is going to be the downfall of our society. Reckless and irresponsible vamps and Alphas out there turning people with no intention of sticking around and being a proper role model to them. But not so in your case." He grinned

Derek's face took on a faraway, contemplative look that told Stiles he had over stepped his professional threshold and it was time to get this meeting back on track. After shoving away his platter, Stiles again flipped through the papers in his briefcase.

"Tell you what, Mr. Hale, why don't we take a look at the contract and if all the terms are agreeable, I believe we can make a deal."

Derek smiled a sad, small smile and for a moment, Stiles forgot that his companion was a potentially dangerous supernatural creature. The man sitting across from him seemed so vulnerable. But Stiles was not stupid. The fact was, this attractive man could rip out his throat in the blink of an eye. In Stiles line of work, that was a little morsel of information that could never be overlooked.

Quickly, Stiles slipped back into his businessman persona and he slid the small packet of documents across the table for the customer's inspection. "Here we are. It is a standard contract that outlines an expected length of time for the general services to be provided. Of course there is always wiggle room with which we can insert some special needs or requirements you may have. It lists the fees based on an hourly rate and it specifies that you buy any and all equipment such as computers, cell phone, etcetera, etcetera. But I can probably get you a deal with second hand equipment initially while your learning. Why don't you take a few minutes to read down through it and if you have any questions, please feel free to ask."

 

Stiles Stilinski sat quietly sipping his cold soda while he took the time to study his prospective client as said client examined the contract in his large hands. Stiles watched as Derek's pale eyes steadily moved back and forth through the lines of legalese and so far none of the clauses and stipulations had caused even the slightest quirk of an impressive eyebrow. When, according to Stiles's estimation, Derek had reached the paragraphs that dealt with the financial end of the deal, he was relieved to note no hesitation or pause.

With a quick flick of his pink tongue across his fingertip, Derek flipped over to the last page where the signature lines were neatly typed and, so far, still blank. With a nod of his head, his eyes lifted to Stiles and the corner of the werewolf's mouth twisted up into a wry smile. "I see you have included a 'no biting' clause which carries a stiff penalty if violated."

Stiles just shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. "Yeah, well, we all live and learn, don't we?" He was one of very few humans who could count werewolves and vampires if not as close friends, definitely friendly acquaintances. He kept in touch with past clients and showed a friendly interest in their progress beyond the immediate, but he wasn't stupid or anyone's fool. "So, is everything in order? Do you have any questions?"

Reaching over, Derek plucked the pen from between Stiles's fingers and he hastily scrawled his name on the dotted line. Before the werewolf could hand it back, Stiles's cell phone jangled loudly from his coat pocket startling them both. With an appropriate expression of regret on his face, Stiles flipped it open.

"Stilinski' Integration Services. Stiles Stilinski speaking." He answered professionally.

A female voice chirruped. "Hey, Stiles, how's it hanging?"

"Oh, um, yes. Actually, I'm meeting with a client right now. May I return your call later?"

"Eww. So, you're sitting with a mosquito or flea bag? Geesh, Stiles, why don't you get a better job where you don't have to....."

His eyes flicked to Derek, could he hear? Did he know it was impolite to eavesdrop? "All right then. I promise to call you back at my earliest convenience."

"Oh, sure, I get it. You can't talk. That's cool. Hey, I'm home why don't you swing by when you are done and we can play footsie in the swimming pool?" Lydia was too rich to be subtle.

Stiles cleared his throat and glanced across the table. Still studying the contract, Derek Hale was apparently uninterested in Stiles Stilinski's interaction and seemed to be waiting patiently for their meeting to resume. Stiles quickly agreed to whatever the caller was suggesting and he hung up.

"Sorry. Business." He apologized and pushed his cell into his brief case.

Derek pushed the signed and dated paperwork back across the table. In doing so, he was careful not to brush his fingers against the human's. Generally unsolicited contact led to screams, the police becoming involved and all kinds of unpleasantness. "So, when can we begin?"

Stiles scanned the contract to make sure it was all in order before dropping it back in his briefcase. "If it's convenient for you, we can start tomorrow or the day after. Most of my clients initially don't have their own computers so they find it advantageous to begin at the local public library where there are cubicles that they can use, or purchase second hand computers which are quite serviceable but a few years out of date. They're usually quite inexpens..."

"No. " Derek shook his head. " No library, I prefer to do this in private and new equipment. Money isn't an issue."

Stiles never expected those words from a client's mouth.

"I will give you a blank check," Derek plowed on, "to take to the computer store and you will purchase everything I need. It's no good my going, I'm certain to purchase the wrong thing. You will bring everything to my apartment first thing tomorrow morning."

Stiles's eyebrows shot up at the werewolf's voice. Immediately the saying, 'Keep them in their place', popped into his mind but he kept the thought to himself. Instead, he simply smiled as if a puppy had learned a new trick and didn't think too closely about the spike of arousal that twisted through his body at the wolf's unexpected tone of authority. He accepted the werewolf's check and confirmed the address as an apartment in a warehouse on the disused industrial park by the viaduct. Many disused warehouses had been converted into cheap, low standard housing for vampires and werewolves. Folding the check into his pocket he watched Derek rise to shake his hand and bring their initial meeting to a close. 

"Thank you, Mr. Stilinski. I look forward to beginning our lessons." Derek turned to go but then he stopped and again faced the businessman who was fishing in his pants pocket for cash to pay the tab. "You may want to tell your girlfriend that the derogatory term 'flea bag' is offensive to most werewolves."

Oh God he'd heard. Of course he had duh, werewolf.

If Derek Hale thought the admonishment would rattle Stiles Stilinski, he was about to be disappointed when Stiles simply smiled tightly and replied. "Yes, well, she wasn't speaking to you, was she?"

Derek responded with a nod and wry smile. "Point taken." With nothing else to say, he walked away leaving Stiles to wonder about the handsome, sexy werewolf he had just contracted with.

After collecting his jeep and discarding the profanity laced note that was stuck under his wiper blade that questioned his decency at taking the only bike space in the lot, Stiles zipped across town toward the more affluent, all-human neighborhoods.

The entire trip took less than fifteen minutes but was a universe apart. Fifteen minutes that saw him absorbed in the organizational thoughts of the set up for his newest client. After visiting with Lydia, he would head for PC Paradise, possibly his favorite store in the whole world and enjoy the luxury that a blank check afforded. Before he realized it, he was pulling into the wide circular drive of the exclusive, sweeping estate.

He bounced two at a time up the wide, stone steps to the heavy oak door between two Doric columns and rang the ornate brass bell. The door was opened moments later by the uniformed maid.

"Good morning, Mable. Is Miss Lydia available?"

"Mr. Stiles! " The maid gave a genuine 'pleased to see you' grin. "Good morning. Yes, Sir. She's around back by the pool. Would you like me to announce you?"

Stiles stepped into the elegant foyer. The polished black marble floors and the high,vaulted ceiling worked in concert with the antiques and the abundance of fresh flowers to dazzle with its opulence and perfect, professional design. For Stiles, who had been a regular visitor for the past fifteen years, it was less impressive than pretentious, he knew the ugly secrets of the Martin family that were masked by the beautiful facade.

"No thanks Mable. "He returned the grin. " I'll just wander back there on my own." Mable's response was a nod and an immediate blending in with the rest of the house's fixtures. The chubby housemaid trotted off in the direction of the kitchen and Stiles headed through the drawing room, past the library and out the French doors that led to the sun drenched patio. Immediately the smell of chlorine from the pool assaulted his nose and he knew the pool boy must have just shocked the water and, no doubt, serviced the pool's owner.

He knew Lydia VERY well.

"Don't you know that it's unhealthy to lie in the sun all day? Especially topless? Haven't you heard the warnings from the Surgeon General?"

The slight, pretty, strawberry blonde girl started at the unexpected voice and she sat up, removing her sunglasses and grinning in the direction of her visitor. Her long hair was tied up in a pony tail and she wore only the tiny thong bottom of a bathing suit that Stiles knew probably cost more than he earned in a month.

"Hey, Stiles! It's about time you got here. Do I need to check you for bite marks?"

"Lydia. Don't start with me." Stiles warned with mock severity.

Stiles's exasperated tone was disregarded as he dropped down onto the lounger next to her. Despite being fully dressed, he stretched out with his head back and his hands folded over his stomach while he closed his eyes. The warmth of the blazing summer sun baked his face and melted the tension from his body.

Lydia studied him with a slightly impatient air. "I just don't understand why you do it, Stiles. Why waste your time and talent on those damn creatures? You have a degree in business. You could be anything. You could come to work for my father in the company. If you continue to associate with those low-life's...."

Stiles made no move from his position of comfort as he listened to her familiar rant. "My client found your term, 'flea-bag' offensive."

"He heard that? He was eavesdropping on our private conversation?" She arched a brow in indignation. "Serves him right. If he gets called nothing worse, he ought to consider himself lucky!"

"Werewolf hearing, Lyds. He can probably hear a fly fart at fifty paces."

Lydia shrugged. The knowledge that she had done or said something that may have been insulting to a werewolf was of absolutely no consequence to her. Immediately she dismissed it from her mind and she again stretched out beside her friend as she changed the subject to something she found more relevant. Sex.

"So, you seeing anyone?"

"Nope."

"How about that cute barrista from the coffee shop near where you live..."

"Nope."

"Stiles."She whined ...

"Lydia. I don't want to talk about this."

"Come on, sweetie." She coaxed. " You know it isn't good not to have a sexual outlet and I don't mean your right hand. When was the last time you had anything bigger than a hemorrhoid up your butt?"

Stiles cringed. "Oh my God, Lydia!!" His eyes flew open and his head snapped in the direction of his blunt, crude and unfortunately accurate companion. The current state of his butt was not her concern, however well meant. He rested his head back and a mix of determination and resignation tinged his voice, he so did not want to have this conversation...

"I just don't have time for a relationship right now. My business is doing alright but it takes twenty-four seven to keep a steady income and pay the bills. Besides, my last couple boyfriends sort of soured me. Men can be such absolute bastards."

Lydia nodded her agreement. Still, she was not about to discard the conversation that easily.

"It's true. Sometimes I think you and I would both be better off if we went for pussies instead of cocks." 

The two friends faced each other and as their noses screwed up in expressions of disgust and dismissal of the inconceivable concept, they shared an "EEEWW!" before lying back on their loungers and discarding the thought with no further consideration.

"So, tell me about your newest client. How long has he been a flea-bag? Does he have any money? Is he going to rip out your throat and leave you in a dirty alley somewhere?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and sat up. The sun was hot on his over-clothed body and although he hated to leave, he still had a lot to do. Before he left though, he wanted to give one more shot at injecting some logic into his friend's prejudicial and bigoted mind.

"He's old school, born a wolf." Stiles said with a more defensive tone than he understood. "Y' know, in the years since the wolves and vamps have come out, the economy has boomed. The mom and pop markets that were on the verge of collapse during the great bust are now doing more business than they ever did pushing meat not approved for human consumption. The welfare system has all been eliminated since any human can sell a pint of red for a fair price and the abundant availability of blood for sale has led to the elimination of vamp attacks, that and punitive prison sentences . Before all this, there were homeless people living on the streets and under bridges. Now every human can afford a roof over their heads and vamps and wolves are the new poverty stricken."

Lydia would not be that easily swayed. For every upside there were at least two downers.

"Oh, sure that's fine for the women and children that have no way of supporting themselves but what has the sudden influx of cash done to the drug addicts? Is it helping them kick their habits? No, just the opposite. It puts money in their pockets and encourages them to continue knowing that their drug-laced blood will get them top dollar on the black market."

Stiles swung his leg over the side of the lounger and turned his body toward his companion. It was pointless to rehash the same old arguments but he couldn't help himself.

"That's a human problem. You know the government is always trying to shut those places down. As soon as one gets busted, another opens up. Most blood and meat shops aren't like that. Most of them are clean and sterile and they meet all the required health codes. Look at that big one down near the mall. Choice Cuts. It looks like a high class Starbucks inside. The only difference is that the menu board offers blood types and raw cuts of meat instead of coffee and bagels."

Lydia flipped over onto her stomach. The pale skin on her tits was already turning a vibrant shade of pink and unless she wanted toasted nipples, it was time to cover them up.

"Whatever." She said dismissively. " I just think that werewolves are filthy, disgusting creatures that should all be made into rugs and I hate to imagine you actually talking to one and I would personally stand in a breadline before I would sell a drop of my blood to feed a vampire."

Stiles bit his tongue to squelch the temptation to point out that her life of luxury, supplied by her wealthy parents would preclude her from ever having to beg for crumbs. It was pointless argument.

It was time to go. With a grunt, he hoisted his sweaty body up from the chair as he squinted against the sun's reflection off the water in the pool. 

"Yeah, well, some of us gotta do what we gotta do and right now, I need to pop over to PC Paradise and get my new client's set up."

Lydia turned her head toward Stiles in question. "I thought you always started at the library."

Stiles tugged the trousers away from his sweaty skin where they were stuck and wrinkly. "Usually I do but this one wants everything done in his apartment. I guess he has privacy issues."

Lydia groaned and swiped her towel across the sheen of perspiration on her forehead. Her friend could be so dense sometimes. "You know what that means doesn't you? Privacy means porn. He wants to look at werewolf porn in the seclusion of his own den of iniquity. He wants to stare at pictures of other wolves fucking doggie style while he jerks off. You know they say about werewolves don't you? They say that all wolves have huge cocks with that bizarre knotting thing."

It was also said that once you fucked with a werewolf, there was no going back!

"That's only Alphas." Stiles pretended to be amused by the subject matter and he clapped his hands like a five year old at a birthday party. "Oh yeah? How huge? I mean are we talking extra big or freakishly humongous?"

Then, still laughing, Stiles ducked just before the flying bottle of sunscreen could make contact with his head.


	2. Chapter 2

Derek Hale hurried back to his apartment in the warehouse on the disused but not abandoned industrial Park near the viaduct. The truth was the park had been reclaimed and almost rebuilt beyond recognition, the brick built warehouses and units extensively remodeled and modernized into elegant apartments. The wide roads were resurfaced, the sidewalks tree lined and the green areas manicured and artfully decorated with colorful flowerbeds. The entire area was surrounded by secure fencing surmounted with surveillance cameras and the only way in through the main gate manned by two werewolves in their gatehouse.

No-one came or went unobserved.

It was secure housing for the better off werewolf and vampire, Alphas, their mates, Omegas and families and Master vampires, some centuries old and their consorts and childer, deserving Betas and minions.

The owner and sole proprietor of the secure estate was one Derek Hale.

Derek hung his leather jacket neatly on the hook by the front door. He nervously ran his fingers through his silky, dark hair as he paced back and forth from the entry way to the living room and back again. A good distance of over forty feet.

He couldn't believe that he was actually going through with this. He had thought about it for months and each time he had almost taken that step, he had chickened out. The rational, logical part of his brain had come up with a long laundry list of reasons why this was a monumentally bad idea while the emotional, ill-advised demands of his wolf had urged him on.

He had experienced very few relationships with human beings and those had left his fingers badly burned and his emotions crippled. As a consequence he was a loner, wary of exposing himself to emotional hurt and turmoil with either human or supernatural partners. Paige had been his High School sweetheart, a lovely musically inclined human girl he had loved with all his teenage angst. Unable to see a future for them unless she was turned, he had enlisted the aid of a mature Alpha to do the deed.

Paige's body rejected the bite.

She was left to die slowly screaming in agony and Derek did the only thing he could do to ease her suffering, he crushed her to him in a tight embrace and broke her neck. It was a mercy killing and one that would forever label him as a killer.

A couple of years later and still at school, perhaps because of his guilt over Paige he was drawn into an affair with a much older human woman. She emotionally and physically abused him and he reveled in it partly because he felt he deserved no better treatment and was basically unlovable. She was a hunter, used him to get information about his family and trapped them in their home and set it alight. Most of Derek's family died that night and he had never forgiven himself.

Surprisingly he didn't hate all humans per se, many disliked his kind, but few enough to let children, babies, women and men burn to death. He was shrewd enough to know that, that took a special kind of psychopath but he was wary, distrustful and for more than ten years he hadn't let ANYONE get close. But he was an Alpha and his instincts demanded he had someone to dominate and protect, possess and guard and for Derek young humans pressed all his buttons. Never again would he allow himself to fall under the spell of a woman but men were a different proposition. Men demanded less time, less romance, less reason to fuck, orgasms were achieved for their own sake, no declarations of love, deep and meaningful relationships, and commitment. Often names weren't even exchanged, it wasn't even essential to like one another, just a mutual physical attraction and lust did the rest. 

And human males were less bother than needy Omegas.

It was a crazy idea.It was something that he knew most humans would look upon as sick, perverted and for himself fraught with danger. In the past, Derek had seen a werewolf caught, tortured and finally beheaded for engaging in this specific kink. In some parts of the world and even in less enlightened states, it was against the law for a werewolf or vampire to engage in a sexual act with a human. Penalties were stiff and invoked a mandatory death sentence in the conservative Bible Belt and evangelical States. It was one of the main reasons he remained in New York City in search of a more tolerant society. The frenetic , cosmopolitan and Bohemian life-style suited his needs. As far as he knew, there were no laws here that specifically prohibited it, but OWNING a human was fraught with danger.. 

But Derek was not stupid. He was not some newly bitten wolf that led with his fangs and compulsions. He had not walked the earth for twenty eight human years by luck. No, he was a wolf that tested the waters with a cautious toe before he dove in and this first step was an innocent, innocuous one that he could, at any time, shrink back from before it was too late.

It was understandable enough. Everyone said that modern society functioned through computers, technology and social media. People hardly talked face to face anymore, they emailed, video conferenced, Facechatted, Snapbooked, Instagarbaged and, Tweeterated. The desire for knowledge was at epidemic proportions, the mundane was 'must have' information, 'likes' were ardently counted, 'friends' were numbered in the hundreds and suicides through social media failure at a all time high. 

Derek was bewildered by it all and disinterested in much of it.

However one corner of the technological revolution fired his imagination and other parts of his body, online hookups. Specifically young human males looking to submit, get their rocks off and indulge in every dirty online perversion from the safety and anonymity of their computer screens. Derek would fulfill their wildest dreams and satisfy an itch he was dying to scratch.

If his uncle Peter ever found out, he'd never hear the end of it.

What could be more innocent than a werewolf wanting to become technologically savvy? Wasn't he entitled to email, shop and bank online like everyone else and partake of social media? It was exactly for that reason that Derek had called in a professional. He wanted a company that specialized in teaching tech-deprived werewolves the basics of using the critical apparatus for things like banking and e-mailing. If he were ever checked, nothing about this actions would appear suspicious.

It was simple. It was faultless. Derek would be the complacent and compliant student and when he had the knowledge he needed, he would lock his front door and log on in search for the one thing he wanted. No, needed. If it wasn't there.....if he found nothing....well, he was no worse off than he was right now. No harm, no kinky foul.

Restlessly, Derek strode into his large kitchen. The rest of the apartment was minimally furnished with elegant, high quality pieces in dark woods, smoky glass and earthy muted colors and natural fabrics. The kitchen was different. It overflowed with every modern appliance and device, light oak cabinets, granite counters and half moon breakfast bar. It was a room in which Derek felt comfortable and the shelf of cookbooks, cuisines from around the world and healthy eating bore testament to his skill and love of cooking. He could lose himself in a recipe as easily as he could in writing and for a time he forgot about his sometimes perilous existence and his 'killer' label.

He pulled a pack of beef out of the refrigerator and he prepared to nuke it to get rid of the chill, despite the fact that he really wasn't hungry. He considered slipping down to the Voracious Wolf for something a bit stronger, venison or boar. Maybe a pint of beer laced with coke or meth and tincture of wolfs bane, the only way his kind got high. Of course with his luck, the cops would bust the place while he was floating on a high.

While he waited for the 'ding', he leaned back against the counter and thought about the human that he had just contracted with.

'What kind of human works only with vamps and werewolves?' He wondered. He imagined that, that sort of business must indicate a certain level of tolerance and a lack of prejudice, yet he seemed to be all business. "He wasn't like those clowns who wave around their bibles and tell vamps and wolves that it isn't too late to come to the Lord. " He snorted, he was talking to himself again. Get a fucking grip Hale." 

One thing was obvious, he found the young man very attractive. He was nearly as tall as him, dark, slender and pale enough to be mistaken for a vamp and had an intriguing smattering of dark moles. Derek wondered if they extended all over his body. He smelled absolutely delicious, cinnamon and vanilla with warm undertones of sunshine. He exuded a gentle masculinity and air of submission that Derek found very enticing.

And when they shook hands........

Derek closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation as he recalled the specifics of the warm, personal physical contact and an unsolicited shudder ran through his body. When the microwave alerted him, his eyes snapped open, he sighed and brought himself back to earth with a bump... 

One more day. 24 short hours and his personal tutor would arrive. Derek had waited for months for this, surely he could be patient for just one more day? He wanted to be cautious, apprehensive and he scolded himself for the small smile that was creeping across his lips and the tingle that was beginning in his pants. "What if it worked? What if everything fell into place?'

He felt his blood begin to stir and thrum through his veins heading south toward his cock, he reveled in the sensation of nerve endings sizzling into life like snakes slithering beneath the surface of his skin. Blood cascaded toward a cock that grew fat and firm. 

The warmed packet of meat in the microwave was forgotten.

He popped the top button of his tight denim jeans and his hand wriggled inside where he pressed his palm flat against the column of firm flesh that was coming alive for his pleasure. When the pressure of his own hand sent a zing through his nuts, Derek began breathing in quick gasps. Reluctantly, he released himself and he hurried to open his zipper to allow for freedom of movement.

When his hard cock was freed from it's denim corral, Derek placed his fingertips on the top of the shaft and he pushed down so that he jutted straight out from his body. He liked that. He liked to look at himself when he was rigid and ready to fuck. Adrenaline spiked in his blood and he felt omnipotent.

He lent back against the wall, Derek decided he had delayed his gratification long enough and he sighed a husky, "Oh, yes." It was time to let his familiar fantasy take over while his hand stood in the place of the man and the body that would soon be his.

He closed his eyes as his fist wrapped firmly around the base of his cock. Slow. He would start slow as his brain set the stage. Lightly and leisurely he stroked the shaft. It was just enough to get the excitement started as he imagined himself sitting, stark naked, legs wide apart at his brand new computer. He logged on, was that what they called it, and went to a site that offered him what he craved. Sexual hookups with a human. A young man with a hot body that ached for a werewolf to claim, to give him orgasms and demand submission from him and looked amazingly like Stiles Stilinski. 

Then, he appeared on the screen. Stiles face atop an edible, well formed, slender body. Pale mole flecked skin, dark hair, whisky eyes and plump lips. He was shy. The aroused blood that rushed through his body sent a pink blush to the young human's cheeks, starkly contrasting with his pale skin. Derek flashed his fangs knowing that the human had come in search of him.

"I am a werewolf! Is this what you want?"

The young man whimpered but he didn't answer, so Derek asked again. "Tell me. Tell me what you want."

The silence in Derek's apartment was broken only by the repetitious sound of skin slapping skin and his one sided conversation. As the scene played out in his head, his hand moved a bit faster while his grip tightened. Up and down, twisting slightly just under the head, his fist dragged the foreskin back to expose the fat, fleshy crown only to hood it back over again. The muscles of his inner thighs tensed and his stomach quivered as the peek-a-boo continued. 

In his mind, he read the imaginary human's profile. "I am a young man who wants to be claimed, fucked and dominated by a werewolf. My ass is hot and waiting for a hard cock to press into me. I long to be knotted, bitten and I will bleed for you. Will you try me out?"

Derek was now deeply lost in the imagery of his fantasy. His cock was so hard it ached and his hand and fingers bumped over engorged, pulsing veins that roped it's length. He became creative as he alternated the tugs and pulls with a slide to the side and a flick to the sensitive bundle of nerves just under the head. Out loud, his voice spoke his mental response to the needy boy.

"Yeah, baby. I'll try you. I'll give you what you want and I'll have you begging me to never stop.

I'll keep you and own you. I will make you sleep naked in my bed and anytime I awake, your ass will be available to me any way I want. You will suckle on the cum from my cock and beg for more."

By now, Derek's dick was leaking a steady dribble of thick, pearly mucus that he used to lubricate his hand and increase his speed. His balls were full and heavy and he wanted to cum but, not yet.

He wasn't there yet. He had no firsthand knowledge of what a computer could do but that was no hindrance to his vivid imagination.

"Show me! Show me what I am buying." Immediate compliance had the prospective property standing and, in Derek's mind he saw the computer screen fill with the sight of a large, throbbing erection. He watched as the purple veins that ran from the root to the head pulsed in rhythm to the powerful heart that beat in the human's chest.

Derek stared at the pale chest that was sprinkled with moles, it was smooth and devoid of the dark mat of hair that covered his own. He licked his lips at the round, pink pebbled nipples and his eyes followed a sparse treasure trail of pubic hair down the illusionary flat stomach to the thatch of crinkly dark curls.

The fantasy caused a whimper to escape from Derek's tight lips. His head dropped and his other hand cupped his nuts as he rolled them between his fingers and played them like a prized fiddle.

He had now reached the point of no return and even a painful pinch to his sac could not force the orgasm back. "DO IT! Do it NOW!" His voice boomed and bounced echoing off the walls of his cavernous apartment as his make-believe Stiles turned around and complied with the command. The monitor screen now displayed an ass, bent over and mooning him. Understanding what was expected of him, the human gripped his cheeks and he pulled them apart. 

And there it was.

"Oh, Jesus. Oh fuck. So beautiful. So pink and wrinkled and tight. Yes. Yes."

Derek's hips now took over and snapped back and forth, rolled and flexed erratically as his cock pistoned in and out of his fist. His other hand continued to cup his nut sack while his forefinger pressed against the smooth strip of skin that led to his own tight hole. His legs shook and his toes curled up. 

The picture behind his closed eyelids was vivid. The warm anus was so tight and real that he could almost smell it. Hot. Musky. Masculine. Human. 

HUMAN. 

It winked at him as the young man tried to open himself up to the werewolf.

"Yes! Yes! Fuck. Fuck."

Derek's fangs itched and his fingernails transformed into long claws. His own cock grew impossibly hard and expanded another full five inches in circumference at the pulsing engorged knot of erectile tissue at it's base. His appearance lost it's human facade and his face could not be mistaken for anything but the werewolf that he was, with smoldering red eyes. His moans and groans dropped an octave to an ominous, chesty growl as he fought the urge to howl.

Suddenly, a rush of blistering heat slammed into him. It sparked down his spine , ricocheted off frazzled synapses and it exploded in his crotch. He lurched and doubled over as the euphoric rush flooded his body and spurted from his cock in shots of sticky, white release. Again and again his dick jerked in his hand, each time ejecting the hot seed that hit the floor with a 'splat'.

Gradually it slowed. The ensuing spasms were less forceful and further apart until finally, it stopped and Derek slumped against the wall. He opened his hooded eyes and he gently eased his hand from his over-sensitive dick. It remained straight and strong, he knew full deflation would take a while so he kicked his pants off his legs and stepped out of them. Walking around nearly naked was preferable to the painful and unnecessary sausage stuffing of his cock into his jeans.

The silly sight of a werewolf wearing nothing but a Henley, a pair of socks and a full erection with an impressive knot was not enough to make him smile. As his cognitive abilities returned he admitted to himself the danger of pursuing his kink. He wanted a young human man, specifically Stiles Stilinski or as near as damn it. It was an outrageous, inconceivable thought. Even New York was a very specifically segregated society in some quarters.

As soon as the vampires had outed themselves, werewolves followed and the world's powers had gotten together, apparently forgetting all of their own past conflicts and they set laws and rules for the manner in which to deal with these half-persons. Any interaction with the human population would be on the their terms. Vamps and weres could be servants. They may even be employed if they had a usable skill or accepted dangerous, dirty, repetitive or labor intensive minimum wage jobs. Biting of ANY kind was by either vamps or wolves, forbidden and the punishment punitive prison sentences or death for repeat offenders.

Within hours of the big announcements, enterprising humans set up Flow and Meat Shops where humans could sell and vampires could buy blood and werewolves got access to cheap sources of 'not fit for human consumption' meat... Any vampire or werewolf with no access to cash would be given a government relief card. Akin to a foodstamp program, these cards would allow the vampire or wolf just enough blood or meat to sustain existence.

Luckily, Derek was not in that dismal position. The name of Hale was almost werewolf royalty. A dynasty of powerful beings who could trace their origins to the earliest Native Americans, a tribe led by a spirit wolf, had a wolf as their totem and called the great grey beasts of the forests -BROTHER. Successive Hale Alphas had amassed great wealth over the centuries, supporting themselves and successful packs. After the murder of much of his family the pack all but disbanded and it was thought prudent that the Hale fortune be split between the surviving Hales, Derek , his sister Laura and their uncle Peter. After Laura's death her fortune was held in trust for the newly surviving member of the family, Cora Hale.

During his years in New York with Laura and Peter, Derek had learned many things about sex and violence and the secrets of werewolves. His grandfather, Credence Hale had been a trusted member of Hitler's elite and had supervised the concealment of cash, stolen art and countless gold bars all of which added to the Hale fortune at the end of the war. Derek didn't approve of the ways his wealth had been obtained, but he wasn't about to turn down a lifeline...

In time, Derek , Laura and Peter had parted ways. Over the course of the last eight years he had sunk much of his capital into real estate. Areas like the secure housing he lived in for the more affluent preternatural being and affordable, good quality subsidized housing for the less fortunate... Office blocks and apartment buildings. The combination of rents and what he made from writing meant he needed for nothing and had cash to splash.

He could go where he wanted. He could do what pleased him, within the laws and constraints of a society that considered him a third class citizen, if not an outright fucking animal. 

He could have told the fucking idiots who thought they were going to take over the world that the best laid plans of werewolves and vamps never go as they should.

He sometimes had the painful thought that his uncle Peter had it right. Peter lived in a penthouse in Manhattan and submerged himself in the dark, dismal and dangerous subculture of vampires and werewolves alike. Gambling, drugs, prostitution, pornography, fight clubs, human exploitation and trafficking... Peter had his fingers in many a disgusting pie. He owned a string of high end casinos, brothels, night and fight clubs, could blend in and enjoy the bodies and company of a string of handsome, if not intelligent human men and groupies. He was in werewolf-hog heaven and Derek hated him. 

 

Now Derek was alone. Living in the open and adhering to the rules and regulations of a prejudiced world. Was what he wanted so horrible? It wasn't like it wouldn't be consensual. What was so terrible? Yeah, Derek knew it was because it wasn't just the sex he wanted from a human man, it was the whole enchilada. He wanted the love, romance and interaction of a relationship. And that was the kink that could condemn him.

 

PC Paradise was situated on a corner site in the out-of-town retail park and had its own extensive parking lot. Stiles cruised into a vacant bay and hopped out of his jeep. The building itself was long and low, rather like a gigantic warehouse, its livery a garish red and sunshine yellow.

PC Paradise was difficult to miss.

As Stiles strode toward the glass doors they yielded seamlessly before him and slid aside with a soft hum, allowing him to enter without breaking his stride. Inside the store was spacious, light, airy and set out in regimented rows, wide aisles carefully numbered and color coded, a helpful floor plan was situated to the right of the door. PC Paradise was one of the foremost retailers of computers (desktop, laptop, desktop replacement, iPads and tablets), computer accessories, printers, upgrades, mobile, software, gaming, security, cabling, network and storage and as far as Stiles was concerned, akin to heaven.

Yeah, he was serious geek.

Tinny music played in the background adding to the sensory overload of bright lights, confusing signs, advertising, moving displays, products, offers and the rich smell of new electrical equipment. Eagle-eyed retail assistants hovered discreetly their commission enhanced salaries ensuring that no customer who showed weakness, stopped too long at a display or product, hesitated, looked interested or lost was ever missed.

Very few people who went into the store, left without buying something, it was almost mandatory.

The moment Stiles stepped into the brightly lit electronics store he felt the old familiar giggle bubble up inside him, it was like coming home and he was like a kid in a candy store. He was a well known figure and most of the staff knew him by his first name. Everywhere he looked he could see aisle after aisle of the newest, most technologically advanced equipment. He would swear that it was light-years from the slag stuff he owned or that was there just last week. It was enough to make his mouth water.

"Hey, hey, Stiles. What's shakin' dude?"

Stiles laughed at both the welcome and the welcomer as Tanner, the PCP employee sauntered up with the familiar grin on his nerdy face. He wore the requisite red vest with the PCP insignia emblazoned on the breast and a matching plastic visor on his head. Tanner's one statement of rebel protest against the establishment was the vintage Chuck Taylor's he sported on his feet.

Stiles liked Tanner. Although probably no more than twenty, Tanner was an undisputed techno-genius. His stubby fingers could dance over a keyboard or phone pad and correct even the most horrendous fuck-up in the blink of an eye. Stiles knew that first hand because he had caused more than his fair share of said fuck-ups.

And that was why Stiles Stilinski purchased all his set-ups here. He knew that if one of his clients had issues that he couldn't handle, a quick call to Tanner would have their feet back on the straight and narrow path to technoville.

"Tanner dude! Just the person I was hoping to find. Bring the shopping cart, I have a client with money and he wants the whole shebang."

"Sounds like the tits, Stiles. Just what I need to make my quota this month and keep the damn man off my back."

The next thirty minutes was a study in selection and correction. Tanner wanted to sell the most expensive and Stiles wasn't having it. Derek was a beginner, a learner, a computer virgin and the last thing he needed was to get lost, frustrated and defeated by a state- of- the -art computer complete with bells and whistles. What he needed was a reliable workhorse instead of a highly strung thoroughbred. Give and take ensued and a compromise was reached. Stiles wanted a desktop replacement, a larger, heavier laptop that gave Derek the option of portability, dual band wireless and mobile connectivity and long battery life in case of power outrage.

Weight didn't matter because duh, werewolf.

A large, anti glare screen for a clear display (a must for word processing) a fast processor for multitasking without loss of speed, large RAM and at least a terabyte hard disc, DVD and Bluray capability, bluetooth, dedicated graphics, good sound, plenty of USB ports and the flexibility of a full-sized keyboard and option of a wireless mouse (in case the touch pad proved too difficult) and a printer.

Derek could always upgrade when he became more proficient.

Tanner picked out a solid quality computer with sufficient pre-loaded software, word processor, graphics and security suitable to a beginner, while Stiles picked up a combined wireless printer, scanner and copier.

They quarreled over the best wireless mouse, heat pad and mouse mat. Stiles picked up a combined modem and wireless router and extra cables and connectors. Then he headed for the cell phones.

Derek had not asked for a cell phone, but Stiles would bet his goldfish Bubbles life he didn't have one and he loved that fish. He wanted to be able to text and phone the werewolf - whenever and a cell was a must. Ordinarily,Stiles would take a few minutes to stand and drool over the high-dollar smartphones, imagining what it would be like to own one himself although really, it was pointless. He knew there was no way in hell that he could afford or justify spending nearly eight hundred plus dollars on a phone despite the fact that the fucking thing could do every trick in the book short of jacking him off. It was out of his reach and not the reason he was there. 

For Derek he bought a very basic, old ladies model with big keys and display. It did nothing but make and receive calls and texts and really what more did Derek need? He signed him up to a very basic month by month plan with a 100 free texts and 200 free minutes of calls. Derek could upgrade the phone and plan when he felt so inclined. He'd had clients that teaching to text was a challenge enough without adding the intricacies of accessing voice mail, taking photos, accessing the web, playing games, posting to social media, taking videos, streaming movies, doing brain surgery and delivering babies etc. etc. .

One more pass through the aisles for power strips, battery chargers and all the little have-to-have accessories that bring the total to an orgasmic delight for the store clerk and Stiles was ready to be bagged up.

"So, Stiles baby. How do you plan on greasing me for this little bundle of joy." Tanner winked a thim unnervingly.

Stiles chuckled as he fished his wallet out of his butt pocket where he had stashed Derek's blank check. Laying it on the counter, he filled in the lines with the name of the business and the grand total. When he handed it to a delighted Tanner, he noticed an absence of grin on the employee's face. "What's that?"

"It's a check."

"I can see that. Your client is paying? With a check? Your werewolf client has a checking account? How do I explain to my boss when it bounces?"

Stiles rolled his eyes and continued to wave the slip of paper in Tanner's direction. He wasn't about to admit that he too had been taken aback by the whole idea but, what the fuck. The world was in flux and anything that helped to pay his rent was cool.

"Come on now, Tan. I'm sure it's legit." Stiles coaxed. "Tell you what, call the bank and verify the account. If it is good, we're straight? Right?"

Tanner still eyed the dubious document but had to agree that the suggested solution did seem acceptable so, after whipping his own smartphone out of his vest pocket and deliberately waving it in Stiles face, he dialed the local branch of the National Bank and he read off the series of numbers on the bottom of the check.

Stiles waited with crossed fingers and bated breath hoping Derek hadn't stiffed him. He saw Tanner nod in response to whatever the bank teller was explaining to him. When Tanner's mouth fell open and his eyes bugged, Stiles knew he was either about to be kissed or his cart of goodies put back on the shelf and would be shown the door. The phone disappeared back in Tanner's pocket and the smile was reattached to his face.

"Stiles! My best bud! Apparently your hirsute student has a balance as big as Texas. Let's load this shit in the trunk of your car and whenever that lovely, fanged friend of yours is ready to upgrade, you be sure and do it when I'm on shift."

Stiles blew out a puff of relief. If the check had proven to be insufficient, Stiles would have had to front the expense and then try to wrangle the cash back. He had learned in the first couple years of his business that it was nearly impossible to get green-backs from a werewolf and since then, he only dealt in money up front.

"It's a deal, Tanner. Now, let's print up these receipts and warranties. I'm supposed to deliver this shit this morning and set him up."

When the jeep was crammed to capacity, it hit the road.

Stiles followed the generic voice on his GPS. When he finished at PC Paradise, he punched in the co ordinates of the address listed on the corner of the check. Stiles was vaguely aware of the location as he had done vamp setups not too far from there. As in most towns and cities, the vamps and wolves tended to reside on the wrong side of the tracks in an area that, prior to the big coming-out, had been occupied by warehouses, slum tenements, trailer parks and the lower class poor of society. 

It seemed that the vampires and werewolves accomplished what none of the politicians and preachers had since the beginning of time. They effectively eliminated the separation of the races by class. The previously poor who now had a way to make a living found themselves elevated to the middleclass while the vampires and werewolves became the new dregs. The races, the blacks and Hispanics, banded together with the whites to ostracize the new low-class and the human condition improved by leaps and bounds on the backs of the supernaturals.

"Turn left in...fifty feet. Destination ahead."

Stiles reached down and punched the "Clear all" button on his GPS and he slowed as he approached the turning onto a side road and in about another 100 yards or so he was brought to a halt by a tall fence surmounted with security cameras and a heavy automatic gate across the road. He could glimpse the renovated and remodeled industrial park beyond. Stiles mouth dropped as he took in the tree lined roads and sidewalks, manicured green spaces, colorful geometric flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges. It looked like a private. wealthy, gated community. One of two guards left the gatehouse and ambled toward the jeep. His dark uniform strained across his impressive chest and round his thick biceps, a peaked cap shadowed his eyes and he had a clipboard fisted in one hand. The guard drew level with the jeep and rapped smartly on the side window indicating Stiles should roll it down. Nervously the human complied and the werewolf leaned in.

 

"Good morning Sir. This is a private community, please state your name and business."

"Er yes, good morning. I'm not entirely sure this is the right place. Nematon Park?" 

"This is the right place, Sir."

"Oh, good. Well I'm Stiles Stiinski and Mr Derek Hale is expecting me." He stated efficiently.

The guard's face unexpectedly tightened and eyebrow arched and then his eyes scanned down the list on his clipboard and he nodded.

"Mr S.Stilinski. ALPHA Hale added you to the list of his pre-approved visitors yesterday evening."

Derek was an ALPHA, that was a turn up Stiles didn't expect.

The guard pulled back and nodded to his companion in the gatehouse, with a hiss the gate rolled back and the guard leaned in again.

"Follow this road straight ahead, take the fifth turning right and Alpha Hale's complex is at the end of the road, you can't miss it. Have a good day Sir."

Before Stiles could thank him the guard was on his way back to the gatehouse.

Stiles rolled up his window and followed the guard's directions sticking to the signed 20MPH and soon found himself outside a huge brick warehouse elegantly renovated and remodeled into a large, well-kept apartment complex. It was more than a bit of a surprise. It was an oasis of green, well trimmed bushes and a neatly cut curb strip flanked on both sides by a tall hedge. Apparently the residents of this community were lucky enough to have a slum-lord with a bit of a conscious.

Following the arrowed sign, Stiles turned and was relieved to find a visitors parking area at the rear that was fairly obscured from the neighboring properties by the hedge . The last thing he needed was to have the newly purchased electronics swiped or his car vandalized, from what he had seen vamps and wolves that couldn't bite resorted to thug-like behavior.

Stepping in the back door, Stiles found himself in a small alcove. On the left was a bulletin board where residents had stuck notices of "cleaner needed" and someone had thumb tacked up one found glove. It was all so normal and human that Stiles was a bit befuddled. On his right was a long state-of-the-art intercom that displayed a vertical row of names divided into GROUND and FIRST floor. There were five apartments on the ground floor, lights and buttons beside names marked with a V or W matched with numbers that Stiles assumed were the apartment assignments. There was only one apartment on the first floor occupied by D. Hale and his button displayed a gold A.

Derek had the entire floor to himself.

When Stiles pressed the button, the small red bulb at the side of the resident's name flashed on and a disembodied voice responded.

"Yes?" Derek answered shortly.

"Mr Hale.. Hey, it's Stiles. Stiles Stilinski?"

"Of course Mr. Stilinski. Please come straight up."

"Um, no. Actually, I would appreciate it if you could come down and give me a hand. I have all of your things in my car and I don't want to leave them unattended and by myself it'll take..."

The rest of Stiles's sentence was cut off when he heard the click of disengagement and the red light snapped off. He was taken aback to realize that he had just been hung up on. Before his reaction could color his next move, the elevator down the hall directly ahead of him slid open and Derek hustled out with a smile tipping his lips. He'd wedged his muscular chest into a white wife beater, a pair of grey low slung lounge pants clung to his lean hips and a pair of muleskins graced his feet.

Stiles had to grin. An Alpha werewolf who wore lounge pants and slippers.

Derek rubbed his hands together in excitement. "Well, well, you certainly are punctual, Mr. Stilinski. I like that., I like that very much. Come on. I'll give you a hand and I'll bet we can get everything up in just one trip."

Before Stiles had the chance to reply, the wolf had zipped by him in a blur that threatened to spin Stiles on his heels. In an effort to protect his locked jeep doors from being ripped from their hinges, Stiles darted ahead of him. 

As it turned out, Derek was right. Stiles loaded the wolf up like a prized mule. Every piece of boxed and bagged equipment was shuffled, stacked and cradled in his arms with the werewolf taking the weight and bulk as if it were nothing and the car was emptied in just one trip. Just to be fair stiles carried the cell phone. Within ten minutes, they were exiting the elevator on the second floor where Stiles was stunned to step out into a plush hallway and see that Derek had left the front door of his apartment standing wide open.

"Wow, you must be one trusting wolf."

Derek's brows crashed together, he was anything but. "Excuse me?"

"You left your door open. You live in the city and you left your door open."

Derek's face wrinkled a bit in confusion as he glanced back over his shoulder at the human who was trailing him. "No one is going to steal from me." The tone in his voice made the clear statement that the thought of someone encroaching on his territory was simply inconceivable.

Any interest Stiles may have had in questioning or refuting Derek's statement was immediately forgotten when, just then, they crossed the threshold into the Alpha's home. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks. He was dumbstruck. It wasn't the fact that it was the lair of a wolf because, in the course of his employment, he had been in several wolves houses. Houses that were, for the most part modest to ramshackle. He had, even once, delivered and explained a cell phone to a wolf living in a cardboard box near the appliance store on Fifth and Main, he didn't question how he was going to charge it..

But this place was, for lack of a better term, fucking magnificent!

It was huge, vast and open as one living area flowed smoothly into another. The kitchen was off to the far left with a long granite-topped island separating it from the dining area. Directly behind the long, dark wooded table and chairs was a floor to ceiling window of square paned glass that flooded the place with natural light.

Past the dining area and now to their right was a sitting area of a high-dollar sectional sofa, matching chairs, leather topped end tables set with antique lamps with brightly colored tiffany shades. A glass topped coffee table and an entire wall of floor to ceiling book shelves. Further to the right was a long hallway that Stiles assumed led to the bedroom and bath and iron spiral stairs led to an upper floor. In the corner of the living room by the wall adjacent to the hallway stood one very impatient wolf with his arms crossed and his muleskin tapping impatiently on the floor.

"Why are you just standing out there? I have cleared my desk in the study over here and I thought you could put my computer on it. Is it all right? Do you need something else?"

Stiles snapped himself out of his embarrassing stupor and he hurried over. The study was huge, graced by an antique, oak desk of immense proportions , behind it a leather executive chair and another window and along the walls more book shelves groaning under the weight of books.

So many books. That's what not having a television did.

He was carrying the box with the cell phone. Derek had set boxes and bags carefully on the desk. Feeling slightly chagrinned at appearing so star-struck, Stiles slipped on his professional demeanor and he went to work.

"Sorry. No, this is just fine. Actually, this is perfect. It will take me a while to get all of this stuff opened and hooked up so, please, don't feel like you have to stand there and watch. If you want to....."

"NO! I'll stay here." It was clear that Derek intended to hover.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles sat cross-legged on the floor of Derek's study and tried to concentrate on what he was doing, the tip of his pink tongue darting in and out of his mouth. Derek hovered over him balancing on the balls of his feet and leaning in for a better look making helpful remarks, asking questions and imparting advice.

"Wow, that sure is a lot of cords." 

"Yep."

"Are you certain you know where everything goes?"

"Yep."

"Um, I don't presume to tell you how to do your job but that little plug just doesn't look like it will fit in that...."

"Mr. Hale!"

Derek jumped back when Stiles stopped what he was doing and glared at the intrusive, annoying werewolf. Ever since Stiles had sat down on the floor cross-legged and began efficiently and expeditiously laying out the cords in preparation for the computer set-up, the werewolf had hovered around, pacing and offering his assistance and advice.

Stiles had never worked with an Alpha werewolf before. Plenty of Betas and one very forward Omega, but no Alphas, it never happened until now. Generally speaking Stiles lumped Master vampires and Alpha werewolves about te same in status and power, but there the similarities ended. All of his fanged and blood sucking clients were Master vampires, by contrast none had ever been Alpha werewolves. Stiles had put this down to the commonly held belief that Alphas were too arrogant, stubborn, dominant and downright bloody minded to ask for help or believe they needed it. Masters went from the blisteringly quick witted and shrewd who learned quickly and disseminated what they learned to consorts and childer, to those turned centuries ago and still coming to terms with electric light and running water, they were a hard slog. Minions were as dull as a cart load of rocks and never entered the picture.

Stiles had no doubt Derek was intelligent, it shone in his eyes, he was just plain annoying.

With a sigh of constrained patience, Stiles put on a tight smile and peered overtop the reading glasses that rested on his nose.

"Tell you what, Mr. Hale, why don't you...." Stiles began.

"Derek. Please call me Derek." The werewolf interrupted, no harm on being on first name terms.

"Yes, fine, and you can call me Stiles. " He answered impatiently. "Now, I am almost ready to power this thing up and after I do, it will take several minutes for the automatic set up. Why don't you make some coffee and while the computer is doing its initial software instillation, we can take a coffee break. I know you drink coffee."

"Yes, Stiles, I do drink coffee although I prefer green tea."

Stiles blinked, he didn't really give a fuck what Derek drank as long as it got him out of his hair. 

Derek took one last look at what Stiles was doing and he bit his tongue before he made another unwelcome suggestion. Apparently this human was very sensitive at the slightest hint that his technical skills were being brought into question. Odd.

Derek strode into the kitchen and fished around in the cupboard for a paper filter and a can of Maxwell House. Stiles hoisted himself up off the floor and his nimble fingers continued with the connections to the laptop on the desk. He glanced up and watched as the werewolf who could so easily bring about his death went about the very human task of counting scoops of coffee into the small plastic basket.

"You really have a wonderful place here." Stiles commented. "I have to admit, I was surprised. This is a rough part of town yet the community and the buildings are so big and well maintained. The rent on this place must be staggering."

Derek pushed the 'on' button of the coffee maker then turned around and leaned against the sink as he considered how much of the truth he should part with. He was by both nature and experience a cautious creature, wary of strangers and false friends. Thing was he didn't lie easily or well, perhaps a bit of truth and a generous helping of evasion was the best path to take.

"Not all the buildings are this large and the apartments vary greatly in size from single to five bedroom, four bath family units. The other five apartments on the ground floor here each have one-bedroom, one bath. I have the largest apartment because I am, um, a sort of manager for the entire community and live here in lieu of a salary..."

Stiles's eyebrows rose slightly. Although not entirely unheard of, a werewolf in a management position was rare. He decided that the owner of the community must be very progressive.

It also answered a lot of questions regarding the werewolf's appearance and demeanor. It also put a new twist on the very reason Stiles was here.

"Oh, I see. So you want the computer for business purposes as well as writing," he nodded, "maintaining your records and such. That's a great idea and we can incorporate a Quicken program into your lessons and have you debiting and crediting up a storm in no time. You will be amazed on how simple it will be to organize your rental receipts, repair logs and building information."

Derek was on the verge of correcting Stiles's mistake when he stopped and reconsidered. To say what? No, I intend to search for illegal human ownership sites? That wouldn't do at all. This man was a human and for all Derek knew, Stiles might be in cahoots with the authorities and eager to report any improper werewolf activity that he encountered.

"Yes. Yes exactly," he answered eagerly with no idea what a 'Quicken' program was, "that and writing are the main reasons I want the computer. Although it is also important that I be able to search the....what do you call it? " His brows crashed together. "Interweb?"

"Internet... And yes, of course. However, since I now know that you want it for business purposes, we can install secondary firewalls and securities so that you can't be hacked into as well as the security you've already got. We wouldn't want someone poking their nose into your affairs."

Derek jolted forward, his eyes widened and his fingers flexed spasmodically. "EXACTLY!! I mean, yes, that would give me a certain measure of confidence to know that I am free to, um, conduct my debits and credits without discovery."

"Discovery?" Stiles stopped what he was doing and glanced over at the oddly nervous werewolf who used strangely inappropriate words. Then, with a mental dismissal, he completed his technical task and tilted himself upright just as the Mr. Coffee stopped perking.

"All right now. Let's fire this baby up and get it rolling."

When Stiles made the momentous declaration, Derek stalked across the room and stared at the magical machine. The instant the blue screen flashed then switched to the Windows symbol, an odd squeaking sound escaped from Derek's lips. He wanted to bounce on the balls of his feet and he wanted to demand that Stiles hurry the stupid contraption up, but outwardly Derek remained stoic, solid and silent. The only indicator of his true emotion was the werewolf's rapid breathing and constant blinking.

"It's on. It's really on. Is that it? Can I use it now?"

Bending over at the waist, Stiles rubbed the kinks out of his knees then flexed his back to ease the cramping of leaning over the desk too long. 

There was nothing to do now but wait.

"Whoa, dude." Derek cringed at the term, but said nothing.

"Now we give it a chance to load up and do the first-time start up. Then we can start. For now, the best thing we can do is have a seat and a cup of cofee."

Derek's mesmerizing pale green eyes darted between his human tutor and the machine that was whirring, dinging and playing quick bursts of musical notes. He supposed it was true. Patience they said was a virtue, then again, who ever heard of a virtuous werewolf?

"Oh, of course. Please, have a seat." He made a gesture to the seating available.

Stiles sat.

Derek gave a tentative smile as he dropped into a chair. "How do you like your coffee?"

Stiles considered his reply. If he were among his human friends, his pat, analogical comparison of his men to his coffee would have had him answering in the expected, "strong, black, and barefoot" but considering the company, he thought it inappropriate. "Black is fine. Thank you."

Derek went through the motions of catering to the human. He poured the coffee and apologized for not having cookies, he never ate them, in fact avoided all added sugar which didn't surprise Stiles given Derek's lean, ripped body. Still more the pity as he could have used a nibble of sugar right about now. With nothing else to do but wait, Derek sat at the table and drummed his fingers beside a cup of steaming beverage that he had no interest in drinking. 

Attempting to ease the tension of the moment, Stiles injected some requisite small talk into the void. "This really is a great community. If its condition is due to your management abilities, you are to be commended."

Derek twitched as he watched the screen across the room go blank then pop back up and slide into another phase of the seemingly unending setup. "What? Oh, the park. Yes, I do try to keep it up despite the condition of the surrounding neighborhood. I feel those who live here deserve better than the filth and hopelessness of a slum."

That answer, in its simplicity and near human sounding logic and compassion caught Stiles off balance. Werewolves were not noted for their empathy and concern for others. He had never considered that a werewolf would care about habitation beyond the assurance that four walls would protect them as they slept and would provide a semblance of a home setting. It was an impression confirmed by the various places that Stiles had set up computers in. Generally shitholes and once even the back of an abandoned stationwagon.

"Oh. I guess I never thought...... "

Derek continued to fidget. He stirred his untouched coffee and kept his attention centered on the computer that mocked him with its continued stalling. "Actually, the owner fancies himself a bit of a philanthropist. Some of the residents can't pay much in cash so they work about the site in exchange. For instance, Albert, Germaine and Jacob do yard work and gardening. Eva in complex three and Carmin in two do laundry for some of the others and Herb down on the ground floor was an electrical genius when he was alive. He takes care of all wiring concerns. Isn't that damn thing done yet?"

Herb was obviously a vampire.

Stiles didn't know whether to laugh or not as he tried to read the validity of the bizarre statements in the werewolf's face and tone. Deciding there was no rationality to an irrational concept, Stiles instead turned his attention to the computer that had settled and landed.

"Yeah, it is. Come on. Let's pull up a chair and.....um, okay then."

Stiles leapt out of the way to prevent being run over as Derek charged by him with one of the chairs from the kitchen table and placed it behind the desk beside the executive leather chair. Stiles chuckled. Derek was bright and quick-minded and he was startled to realize that if Derek hadn't been a werewolf, he would have found the man with Satanic, serial killer good looks both engaging and good company.

The following two hours were spent on instruction, experimentation and explanation. 

The apartment had a landline as evidenced by the ancient, black rotary telephone on Derek's desk.

"The last time I saw a telephone like that it was on exhibition in a museum. Does it work?" Stiles asked.

"Perfectly." Derek's one word answer betrayed his affronted feelings.

"We can use the landline to access the Internet initially. It's far from ideal and will be as slow as Christmas and may not load some sites, but it'll have to do. You can arrange to have the apartment wired for broadband. I can give you some providers to call."

Derek blinked at him. "All the apartments are wired for the Interweb, I just have to call and activate my account."

Stiles brows rose."Where's the connection?"

"There." Derek pointed to a white box fixed low on the wall.

Stiles set up the combined modem and wireless router to the box and paired it to the computer, Derek made the call and activated his account.

They discussed setting up an e-mail account using 'thewolfman69@GMX' as the username and after extensive contemplation, 'sourwolf' as the password. Neither of them considered the prospect of Stiles remembering the elusive codes that would allow access to the werewolf's messages. The thought never occurred to Derek and Stiles had dismissed his interest in the werewolf's email as soon as it was typed in.

Now that they had the very basics completed, Stiles could see no reason for continuing the lesson today. He moved out of the way and watched as Derek leaned forward, intently staring at the screen as his fingers danced over the keyboard. Apparently Derek Hale had acquired a certain skill in typing .

Stiles quietly scooted about gathering up the trash. The cardboard, styrofoam and the packing materials that were no longer needed. He also placed all the instructional manuals and warranty cards on the desk to prevent their getting lost in the clutter. Derek never tore his eyes from the 17 inch screen and for all intent and purpose, he was unaware that Stiles was still in the room.

"All right then. I think this completes our first time. Why don't you just play around with it for a while and get the feel of it. The next time we...."

Derek's head snapped up as though he were startled at the reminder of Stiles's presence and even more shocked at the thought of his leaving. There was still so much he didn't know or understand.

"Wait. No, don't leave yet. I'm not ready. The internet. You didn't fully explain..."

Stiles paused and he recalled the comment Lydia had made. Was Derek planning on hunting for werewolf porn sites? He shouldn't have been surprised. A lot of male wolves wanted hooked into the technology in order to surf the fuck and bite pages that they no doubt jerked off to. For some odd reason though, Stiles found it somewhat disappointing to know that Derek was one of them. Still, censorship was not what Stiles was paid for.

"It's no problem. Just remember to type in the subject matter that you are searching for in the Google bar at the top and then select from the sites offered. Now, the next time we meet we will set up your cellphone and talk about prepaid minutes and......"

"Tomorrow? Can you come tomorrow? Please?" Derek implored.

Stiles slipped on his denim jacket and he made sure that all of his paperwork was in his briefcase before heading to the door.

"Yeah, I guess that would work for me. I don't have any other appointments tomorrow and we can get quite a bit done. Tomorrow is fine. See you then, Derek."

 

By six p.m., Stiles was headed home and nursing the mother of all headaches. He had spent the last two hours explaining to an unusually dull-witted Master that other vamps won't like you and won't want to play with you if you program all their numbers into your cell phone then walk around with your phone in your back pocket. Dead or alive, no one wants the irritation of being butt-dialed all day.

It was a concept the arrogant vampire found hard to grasp.

At last he was finally done and exhausted both mentally and physically and he was nearly starved. He hadn't eaten since breakfast which was the down side of his clientele, but he was too tired to think about cooking. He needed a full belly and the oblivion of a carbohydrate coma, it didn't even have to taste particularly good as long as it was edible and there was plenty of it. He pointed the jeep toward Spaghetti Junction.

Spaghetti Junction was a pseudo Italian place down on Pine St. that shoveled spaghetti out by the cardboard bucketful. It was cheap and filling. The down side was that the sauce was thin and flat but the redeeming quality was that they threw in a half dozen breadsticks and a two liter of Dr. Pepper.

It was a bonus that was hard to disregard by a modest budget.

"Hey, Trevor. How's it going?"

Stiles scanned the menu board while mindlessly spouting the standard greeting to the young man behind the counter. The restaurant was empty except for a couple squabbling in the corner. The husband apparently wanted the sausage sauce while she was of the opinion that only a moron would pass on the four cheese. Stiles took their indecision as a pass to jump in ahead of them. When the server behind the counter recognized his newest customer, his eyes lit up like Christmas morning.

"Hey! Stiles! Haven't seen you in an age. Where have you been hiding?"

Stiles smiled at the handsome young man. Not a solicitous smile that is dispatched to those in menial wage jobs but a genuine, white-teeth flash that says, 'Maybe. Just maybe.' So, after Stiles had placed his order, Trevor took that maybe and he ran with it as the couple who had reached a pasta compromise now waited impatiently to order.

Trevor placed both elbows on the glass topped counter and leaned forward. "Ya know, Stiles, you have been coming in here for quite some time now."

Stiles responded with a nod of the head and a hungry growl in his stomach. "Yeah, I guess so."

Trevor took that affirmative as a go-ahead and he jumped right in. "So, why don't you and I get together and compare meatballs. We could go out for a quick bite then back to my place where we could linguini the hell out of each other."

After recovering from the shock of the proposal, Stiles grinned and even chuckled at the suggested pasta analogy. A woman being propositioned in such a manner would no doubt respond to the leer, the waggling eyebrows and the thinly veiled sexual hints with a slap to the face of the cad who thought such things amusing. For a gay man who hadn't had a one night stand in months, it was better than roses, candy and violins.

It wasn't what he really wanted. The truth was, Stiles wanted a relationship. He wanted someone that he could talk to after the lasagna was all gone and the sauce licked up. Clearly that person wasn't Trevor. But that the young man might be is a quick tossed salad, an appetizer rather than an entree, he was better than nothing... When Stiles realized that the food analogies were over-taking his brain, he laughed his reply. "Sounds good but if you don't give me some food pretty damn quick, I'll starve to death and then I won't be anything but a limp noodle."

With a whoop and a "YES!" Trevor rushed to the cooking pit where he scooped a large shovel of spaghetti into a cardboard bucket. He grabbed a pre-packed container of sauce and he tossed more than a dozen breadsticks into the jumbo carry-all bag. When he handed over the goodies, Stiles exchanged the food for a twenty dollar bill and his business card.

"Give me a call and we'll get together."

Trevor studied the card. It was so fucking official looking that he could already feel his dick get hard. He knew Stiles was good-looking and when he wore his old faded jeans, the bulge in the front of the too-tight denims made Trevor's mouth water but this....a fucking business card... Goddamn if that didn't make the counterman want to slip into the backroom and jerk one off.

"Excuse me! We are ready to place our order!" Said the male half of the squabbling couple impatiently.

Trevor shook himself from his erotic fantasies. The couple with the sauce issues tugged him back to reality just as the last of Stiles's scrumptious ass disappeared into the night.

 

Derek paced back and forth in his apartment and stared at the strange contraption that sat on the desk in his study. Like anticipating the arrival of a brand new pet, Derek had bought the best in preparation for his computer. His desk sat on an expensive rug to protect his wooden floor and the black, leather executive chair was new and replaced his old one. It swiveled, tilted and did all manner of exciting things. He had a goose-neck lamp and he bought a mouse pad with a whimsical wolf (he had exchanged it with the plain black one Stiles bought with the wrist support, as soon as the young man had left). And now, like the first afternoon with a strange pet, Derek was unsure of his feelings or even his next move.

Stiles had left the laptop turned on with the instruction that Derek should 'play' with it. Get acquainted, possibly toss it a ball and scratch it behind the power cords. Derek stopped moving and stood directly in front of it and watched it mock him as the colorful pastel bubbles bounced all over the black screen in what Stiles called a 'screen saver'. He nervously ran his hands through his dark hair as the toes of his bare feet flexed repeatedly against the luxurious pile of the thick rug.

"Okay. This is fuckin' ridiculous. Stiles told me to practice on the thing so that I would be ready for our next lesson. I am only doing what my tutor told me."

He was oblivious to the weirdness of talking aloud to himself.

The justification was all he needed to get his frozen legs to move. Immediately, he strode over to the windows where he pulled the shades and plunged the apartment into a shifty shade of clandestine darkness (immaterial to Derek because duh - werewolf night vision). He then turned back to the computer, dropped down into the comfy chair and cracked his knuckles as his brain tried to recall all the steps Stiles had led him through.

He wiggled the mouse and the computer sprang to life, the bubbles cleared and it was ready and waiting for its master's command. 

Derek liked that. It was power in his hands. 

That was something he hadn't felt in years. He leaned forward and stared at the screen and the first thing he noticed was the little envelope in the top right-hand corner of he screen. Stiles had told him that was for e-mail. As far as Derek was concerned, it was a waste of time. He didn't know any other technologically savvy werewolves except his uncle Peter and he wouldn't be dropping him a line or a snappy joke and a cartoon any time soon.

Still, it was a starting point so Derek double-clicked on the envelope and the little symbol kicked in. Within moments, a small 'ding' signified that he did indeed have mail. Derek frowned and clicked his mouse to see who the fuck had written him. Immediately the professional crest of Stilinski Integration Services popped up along with the message, "We are happy to have served you." 

Derek sat back with a surprised grin on his face. Stiles had emailed him. He liked that. It was no more than a standard form letter but somehow it felt like so much more, it seemed strangely personal. Maybe because it was in his own home, in the dark. Derek shuddered as a tingle ran down his spine. Finally, he decided he had stared at it long enough and confidence bolstered, impatience stirred, he decided to continue.

Stiles had set Google as his home page and explained that whenever he wanted to go to the internet, he should start there and type in the subject matter onto the empty box. Derek looked all around him although obviously there was no one there to lurk over his shoulder.

Experimentally, he typed in 'werewolves' and pushed the search key. Immediately, countless listings popped up beginning with the Wikipedia definition. As if anyone in the modern world was unfamiliar with the fanged, species of shifter. Whistling innocently, Derek clicked on two or three of the sites and glanced over the pages with general disinterest.

He then got a little bolder...

Unsure of how to word it, Derek typed in 'werewolf dating sites' and he punched the key with the mumbled order, "go fetch" as he waited. Again, a seemingly unlimited number of possibilities leapt forward offering him a plethora of sites. Beginning with legitimate sites that offered both male and female werewolves (Betas mainly and one or two Alphas) the chance at romance and near eternal happiness, gradually a certain sleaze factor begin to interject into the names of the sites. 'undertheligtofthemoon.com' gave way to 'oncebitten.com' and 'littlered.com'.

With a frustrated sigh, Derek decided to select one and just dive in. The first site he opened was very vanilla. It was bright colorful pictures of pretty male and female werewolves walking hand in hand through fields of flowers. Obviously the web designers were human. Most likely women as Derek didn't know any wolves who saw this scenario as the way they wanted to spend their almost limitless years.

Moving on down, he opened another one and was a bit more mollified when it depicted a couple on a date. Until he saw the context. They were skulking around in a dark alley and the implication was that, in another universe, at another time in space, these two lovers would leap from their concealment to slaughter and devour a human or two. It was an implied illusion that was entirely false and extremely offensive. Werewolves had never attacked humans and regarded them as a food source. Certainly in the past werewolves and humans came into mortal conflict, sheep and cowherds guarding livestock were all too often collateral damage. Werewolves defended themselves and packs from persecution, hunters and bloodthirsty mobs with pitchforks, ropes and torches. But no human was ever hunted as food. For Derek, it was an image that left him cold and sad.

With a shake of his head, he moved down the scale of dignity and he clicked on a site called euphemistically Ladies and Tramps. This was apparently the trailer trash of werewolf skanks. Skinny female Beta wolves whose bodies told the story of their lives. They were skinny and had a vacant stare in their eyes that said they had a long-standing relationship with wolfs bane laced drink.

These were wolves that hit a kink more for human men than any male werewolf with a shred of dignity.

There were female wolves posed naked on all fours with their legs wide apart and their nasty, gaping pussies dripping with unnecessary lubrication. Automatically, as if he could smell them through the screen, Derek put his hand over his nose and scowled. 

Clearly, he was way off track.

He lent his back against the plush leather back of his chair, trailed his fingers over his brow and squinted at the screen illuminating his face and throwing his handsome features into sharp relief. 

He took a moment to rethink.

This wasn't it. This wasn't what he wanted. He needed to, what did Stiles call it? Oh, yes, refine. He needed to refine his search.

"No fucking females. I don't want any fucking females. So, let's try this again." He declared bitterly to the empty room.

This time when Derek typed in the words, he tried 'male werewolves who want men'. Immediately a new set of possibilities cropped up on the screen and he started sifting through them. Randomly, he opened one after another and disappointingly, they were basically all the same. They showed tanned werewolves with long fat cocks, some sported erections and some remained flaccid, some were bent over to display their rectums and some sucked other dicks. They were all posed and wore the obviously fake, unattractive expression of a squelched up fuck-face.

Although none of the sites showed an actual bite, all of the wolves who posed in the nude had obvious red, swollen sores and the implication was clear. They bit and sucked more than cocks.

It was slightly scintillating but.....no. That still wasn't it.

Despite two hours of staring at werewolf porn, Derek's cock never stirred in his pants and he knew he could sit here all night and still not find what he wanted. Finally, he scooted his chair back and he stood. He stretched the cramp out of his back and ambled into the kitchen. Although he knew he was totally alone, Derek plastered the most innocent look onto his face that he could conjure up.

He hummed an old Frank Sinatra tune, 'My Way', fixed himself a cup of green tea and sipped it lounging against the kitchen counter. He stared at the monster machine that mocked him from across the apartment. He knew the damn thing contained exactly what he wanted he just needed to find the right way to ask.

As the warm tea infused his body, Derek's determination also gained strength and fortitude. His green eyes flashed with resolve and he shoved himself into a standing position. He slammed the empty cup down by the sink and marched forward and into battle. He sat back down and his fingers danced over the keyboard as he typed in, 'human men looking for men.'

He then punched the search key and he watched the screen come alive. It was the most logical way. He would read down through the men's profiles and when he found one that listed 'open minded' or even 'willing to explore' he would......what? Derek wasn't sure what he would do next but he was certain that this was the place to start.

Beginning with the very first site, 'Elitemales.com,' Derek clicked on the 'just added' category. When the first man popped up, Derek's chair spun, tilted back and he tumbled onto the floor...


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia had lain for a long time in the hot sun, baking her pale skin to till it glowed with a rosy pink sheen. After Stiles had gone, she intended to nap for a while by the pool as she passed the time till lunch, but she found herself unable to doze off. Her thoughts raced and on each turn, came back to the woeful state of her best friend's love life. Specifically the lack thereof.

Stiles was lonely, or most certainly he must be. He worked too many hours and he spent too much time thinking about a dead end occupation that probably repulsed and drove off any dating prospects. Left to his own devises, Stiles Stilinski would die old and alone and that was something Lydia simply couldn't allow to happen.

Lydia loved her Stiles. They had been best friends since kindergarten and Lydia was the first person that Stiles had come out to. Even if it was done in an effort to end her romantic advances toward him, it still counted.

"Mable!"

As the solution had popped into Lydia's mind, the name was shouted from her mouth and immediately, the housekeeper rushed to the patio to see what the crisis of the minute was.

Bouncing with excitement, Lydia stood nearly naked by the pool. Without waiting for instructions, Mable snatched the silk kimono off the lawn chair by the door and she hustled over to wrap it around her mistress' small body.

As Lydia tied it around her slim waist, she hurried inside and directly to the den while the servant remained close behind waiting to see what would happen next. She didn't have long to wait. As soon as Lydia plopped down in her father's plush office chair behind his desk, she started tossing orders.

"Mable, I need you to run upstairs and get the shoebox full of pictures off the top shelf in my closet. Bring it down to me and don't dawdle!"

Mable turned on her heels and darted off to do as she was told. Not because she had to. The days of the black population automatically being relegated into occupations that were less than their Caucasian counterparts were gone. Twenty years past when the vampires and werewolves stepped into the status of third-class citizens, everyone who could breathe was instantly elevated.

But Mable stayed where she was. Despite a lifetime of being ordered around, she was happy with her position of employment. She had been with the Martin's since Lydia was one week old and couldn't imagine leaving the child now. The fact that Lydia was an adult in years did not change the fact that she was still a child in Mable's heart.

After the retrieval of the worn, Jimmy Choo shoe box, Mable found Lydia busily fidgeting with the computer on the desk. When Mable appeared in the doorway, Lydia snapped her fingers although her eyes never left the screen. She patted the side of the desk and Mable quickly set the box in the designated spot. Immediately, Lydia flipped off the lid and dove in as the housekeeper waited for an explanation.

"Here. What about these? Look at these and tell me which one you like the best." Lydia frowned in a very serious, business-like manner as she laid a series of photographs out on the table, turning them in a ninety degree angle so that Mable could see and evaluate them.

When the housekeeper picked up the first two, her curiosity shot to horror and she dropped them like two very hot potatoes. "ACK! Miss Lydia! These are pornography! What are you doing with pictures like them?"

Lydia snickered as her mission was temporarily set aside in favor of shocking her pseudo-granny. "Look at them again, Mable and this time, look at the face."

Mable cringed but never considered refusing the order. This time, as if it were coated with acid, Mable gingerly picked one up by the corner and she allowed her eyes to dart onto the full-color image before snapping back to her mistress. When what she had just seen finally registered in her brain, her mouth fell open and she again took a good look. "Good Lord, Miss Lydia! There pictures are of Mr. Stiles! Why would he give you.....? Who took them...? Oh my God!"

Lydia was already bored with Mable's puritanical histrionics. What Lydia needed now was not a nanny but a co-conspirator. "Hush, Mable. I took these when Daddy gave me that new digital camera. Doesn't Stiles look great? You would never know he has such a great body the way he covers it up. Anyway, I think this one is my favorite. What do you think? I mean a couple of them are regular cock shots, but I always think that it is sexier if you leave a bit to the imagination."

With shaky hands, Mable took the picture that Lydia was handing her. It showed Stiles lying back on the very pool lounger that Lydia had been sunning on just a few minutes ago. He wore only a pair of very small, extremely snug Speedos that made no secret of the fact that he was well endowed. He had a dazzling smile on his face, one arm behind his head and his right hand was stuck down inside the swimsuit. His legs were wide apart and the whimsical sparkle in his eyes told you he was not thinking about taking a dip in the pool.

Mable stared at it much longer than a quick evaluation required and with a snort, Lydia snatched it back. The housekeeper's reaction told her that she had the right one. After putting it in the scanner, she hit the button and the machine came to life as a feeling of foreboding told Mable that Lydia was about to do something monumentally stupid.

"What are you doing with that picture, Miss Lydia? Does Mr. Stiles know you are...."

Lydia waved her hands dismissively. "That's all, Mable. Thanks. You can go."

"But miss. I don't think...."

"That's all, Mable. Oh and please close the door behind you."

As soon as she was alone, Lydia went to work. She Googled several sites that popped up under the general topic of 'men searching for men' but wasn't exactly sure what it was that Stiles would select if he were doing his own choosing. Some of the really graphic sites were too crude for him, although she did bookmark a couple to look at later. They made no bones about their audience. They showed hard dicks being shoved in and out of tight, pink, butt-holes and Lydia wished she had her silver bullet vibrator with her.

She stared at the men, young and old, burly and twinkish, all sizes, shapes and colors as they sucked on each other in groups of two, three and more. She gasped at the pictures of their faces covered in blobs of white, dripping semen and for several minutes she forgot all about Stiles and the altruistic reasons for cruising such sites.

Finally with a bit of chagrin, she remembered and she quickly went back to the Google reference page. "Class. Stiles is a man of high class and not interested in base pornography. He would look for a date on a site that caters to a more mature type of man. Let's see..... Hmmm... Oh, here we go. Elitemales.com. That sounds perfect!"

With determination and conviction, Lydia selected the site and was delighted when it opened with pictures of men holding hands, walking on the beach, snuggling by the fire and even grocery shopping together. It was perfect. Surely, she thought, this is what gay men want from each other.

Wasting no time, she clicked on the 'join now' button while she fished in the desk drawer for her father's credit card. Once Stiles had become an official member of the happy elitemales family, she needed to set up his profile. Scrolling down to the box entitled, 'tell us about yourself' she took a deep breath and paused as she muttered, "Okay, so what to say? I don't want him to sound desperate although he probably is, so...."

With a nod of her head and a squint of determination, her fingers began to dance over the keys and as the clackity clack sound filled the room, a picture of Stiles took shape on the screen using the site-assigned code name of Buff Guy 15.

"Hi. My name is Buff Guy 15. I am 24 years old and I like my guys my age or older. I am a very successful businessman and would love to show you my bottom line. I am generally a skillful top but would not say no to a meaty piece of probing flesh. I am extremely open minded and up for anything. While I don't mind a quicky, I am in the market for a long-term relationship. Drop me a few lines about yourself. Maybe we can peek into each others boxers to see if we are compatible."

"Hee hee." Lydia was amazed by her own wit and humor. It was always a good idea to break the ice with a little chuckle. There was a lot more she wanted to say but a new relationship needed some mystery and besides that, she wasn't down on all the code words that the male gay community used. The last thing she wanted was for Stiles to look like a fool. 

She then uploaded the photo from her scanner and lined it up to rest just under the profile.

She hated to pat herself on the back, but it all looked incredible. Stiles should have more gay men e-mailing him than a interior decorator's hotline. All she needed to do was hit the 'enter' key after which there would be no turning back.

Then she paused.

She stared at the monitor and she chewed her bottom lip. Was she overstepping her bounds? Did she even have any boundaries? Would Stiles be offended? She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as she stared at the erotic picture with the come-hither eyes as she scowled and muttered, "Damnit Stiles, why couldn't you be straight? You and I would be perfect for each other. Oh, well. If not me, you deserve to have someone that will make you happy. Sooooo, should I should or should I shouldn't? This doesn't have your real name on it so if you don't want to meet any of these guys, Buff Guy 15 just won't respond. Right? I mean if you were here you would tell me to do it, right?"

Lydia looked around furtively and before she could talk herself out of it, she hit the enter key and watched in horror as the screen blinked, flashed and stated, "PROFILE RECEIVED! GOOD LUCK, STUD!"

The shock of what she had just done escaped in the sound of an "EEP". She jumped to her feet, punched the power off button on the vile contraption and she scurried quickly from the den choosing to believe the old adage of 'out of sight, out of mind.'

 

"Son of a bitch!!"

Derek stared at the gorgeous picture that filled his large computer screen as his eyes warred with his brain as to where to stare first. No doubt the crotch was hypnotic. The open thighs, sprinkled with dark, curly hairs led, in an alluring 'Y' straight up to the tiniest, blood-red piece of fabric that could only be called a cock-thong. The sides of the material rode low cutting just under the jutted hip bones while the angle of the camera seemed to zero in on the heavy nuts that were trying to escape out the sides. 

Then, of course, came the cock. Obviously hard. Really hard. Even the dastardly hand that attempted to conceal it couldn't completely hide the fact that the owner had a lot to be proud of. It was fat and thick and by the sneak-peak of the mushroom head that was snickering out the top of the waistband, it was, as Yogi Bear would say, smarter than the average bear. 

But none of that was what had sent Derek tumbling off his chair. What had him dumbfounded was that, after reading the love-lines up the shaft of the cock, his green eyes had crawled up the wide expanse of pale skin, the flat stomach, chest and broad shoulders to.......THE FACE!

"What the fuck? No. It can't be. No, must be one of those what do they call them? A Doppelganger. That's it. Mr. Stiles Stilinski of Stilinski Integration Services must have a look-a-like."

That's when he scrolled up to read the profile and several points caught his attention. Points like 'businessman' and '24 years old' seemed important until he read the magic words, 'open-minded and up for anything'. Derek blinked. Did that mean.......?

"Holy Shit!"

Derek printed out a copy of the picture and put the page on 'favorites'. This was something to think about.

 

"Shit. Damn it."

Stiles muttered and cursed as he balanced his grocery bags with one hand while he dug into his pants pockets for his apartment key. When he finally found and retrieved it, he hurried to open the door just as the sacks slipped through his arms, hit the floor and the contents tumbled out.

"Well fuck." He stood for a moment and stared down at the cans of soup that rolled away and he considered himself extraordinarily fortunate that the milk hadn't burst open, and the frozen curly fries appeared to have broken the eggs fall. With no imminent pooling crisis to scramble and clean-up, he simply shrugged and closed the door behind him.

He then stepped over the whole jumble of clutter and he walked toward the living room to check the phone for messages, where he found his machine blinking "2". He pushed the 'play' button as he continued on toward the bedroom. Considering the small, efficient size of his apartment, he  
could hear the playback from any other room.

*BEEP* "You have two new messages. You have ten old messages. Message one."

"Hello? Hello? Stiles are you there? Hey, Stiles, this is Bobby Finstock. You remember me? Of course you do. You just left here. Hey, look, I know you said that people can't see me through this computer-thing but I was scanning some vamp porn and I could have just swore that this vamp bitch was staring right at me. Can you come over and take a look. Um, maybe not till tomorrow cause  
I think I may be busy tonight. Thanks, buddy."

Stiles groaned and shook his head at the message. Bobby was one of those vamps that, in Stiles mind, confirmed that some vampires were brain-dead long before they were turned. 

In life Bobby had been an amiable, wild haired eccentric, hapless and bumbling through life, lurching from one crisis to another and with a drink problem - he couldn't get enough of it. One night he'd challenged a Master vampire to a drinking match and it hadn't ended well. Bobby drank beer, the vamp meth laced blood. High as a kite Red Necked Bubba (Bobby's affectionate name for a Sire whose name was a mystery) turned him, made him a childe and promptly split. Poor Bobby was left to fend for himself without a Sire's guidance.

The apple didn't fall far from the tree and Bobby the vampire was pretty much the same as Bobby the human. He was a client that required almost daily updates to reinforce even the most basic information and instruction. After leaving Derek's place, Stiles had checked on two other clients  
before finishing the day with a frustrating visit to the mentally challenged Bobby. Today's crisis was Bobby's conviction that the computer was prejudiced against him because he was, as Bobby put it, vamperized. Stiles had repeatedly assured him that it was a non-species-specific piece of equipment.

Regardless of Bobby's pain-in-the-arse status, Mr. Finstock was a cash customer. Stiles knew after his morning session with Derek, he would have to swing by the old Twin's Motel, a place that had been converted into a dozen tiny vamp rooms, and try to convince Bobby that this was not the modern  
day version of Orwell's 1984.

*BEEP* "Message number two."

"Hi, Stiles, sweetie, it's Lydia. Hey, I need to talk to you. I might have done something stupid. Well, not really stupid because I did it out of love and nothing done out of love is really wrong. Don't you agree? I mean if we do something with the best of intentions.... Oh, I know, they say the road  
to hell is paved with good intentions. I never did understand exactly what that meant. So anyway, I would really love to meet you for lunch or maybe just coffee tomorrow so we can talk and I can tell you what...." *BEEP*

Stiles slipped on his worn, soft, cotton sleep pants and his favorite old tee. Then he padded barefoot back into the entryway to pick his dinner up off the floor. As he passed his answering machine, he hit the 'delete' button and kept on going. He just wanted some silence and peace tonight. Whatever Lydia wanted to babble about would keep until tomorrow. Tonight it was  
all about him, a bucket of spaghetti and the newest episode of American Gods on Amazon.

In took less than fifteen minutes to have all the groceries picked up, put away and the bucket of pasta and breadsticks warming in the microwave. As he leaned against the counter, Stiles looked all around his apartment and in his mind, he couldn't help but make a comparison to Derek's larger, more richly appointed place.

Stiles home was conveniently compact. It was efficient and simple. Since moving in he hadn't put much of a personal touch on any of it, beyond the new coat of paint on the walls that was needed to cover up the blood stains left by the previous tenant, and a few pictures of him and his friends in better times.

From what he could see, Derek's place had what professional interior decorators called 'defining touches'. It said that either Derek had, had a professional decorator design it or possibly the werewolf had been a student of interior design, somehow Stiles didn't see Derek as the interior decorator type. It was all very elegant without being gaudy. It was rich, warm browns accented with pale tans and off whites. It was matching and contrasting pillows and drapes and it was plants and flowers and even a fake rubber tree .

And surprisingly, considering it was the lair of a Alpha werewolf, it was very warm and welcoming.

It was the type of place that Stiles would like to have if he suddenly one day won the lottery or tripped over the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

A lot of people might have been jealous. After all why should a lowly werewolf be allowed to live in such creature comforts when a human does not? For Stiles, the subject carried more complexities than that. After working with them for over three years, he had come to realize that, werewolves and although technically dead vampires, were still people. 

One thing he was sure of, like a disease, none of these beings had asked for this state of their affairs. They were born or bitten and turned and couldn't really be held accountable for their fate. So, should they be blamed if they tried to make the best of it?

It had only been twenty years since the cataclysmic time of coming out and Stiles couldn't recall what society was like pre-outing as opposed to post-outing. Funny thing was that it happened on December 21st in the year 1997. It was the day that several prophets had predicted the world would come to an end. Stiles wondered if one of the vampires making the public decision was  
an ancient Mayan with a perverse sense of humor, or if this was just one of those quirky coincidences.

For Stiles, it wasn't important. He had always been pragmatic and the seeming impropriety of supernatural beings living in the lap of luxury while he inhabited a second story walk-up was just what it was. When he really studied on it, the point that came to the forefront of his mind was not the color of the man's walls as much as the color of his eyes.

Green. Startlingly clear, pale, smokey green. Green that sparkled when he smiled and clouded over when he scowled and concentrated. With a shake of his head, Stiles turned and he muttered as he dumped the sauce-covered noodles onto a plate. "Damn. He's handsome, ripped, smart, hard-working and successful. Just my rotten luck that he has to be a werewolf."

And that was it. He thought no more about it as he relaxed for a quiet evening. His cell phone was turned off and he let his answering machine pick up the random telemarketing call. By ten o'clock, he was ready to call it a night. It was the loneliest time of the day. The time when he wished he was snuggling under the covers with another man. A man who wanted to tear it up and leave  
him slumped and exhausted in a wet spot of tsunami proportions.

'Maybe Lydia is right,' he thought as he slipped between the cool sheets. 'Maybe I do need something more substantial than my own fingers up my butt.' That was when Stiles remembered the young man at the food shop who had asked him out. Trevor was not the man of Stiles dreams and if he had to guess, he would bet that he was a Nelly bottom as opposed to a beefy top. It was a situation that was not generally simpatico. Two bottoms fighting for position was almost as awkward as two tops.

It was a flailing of arms and legs as each man tried to flip and be flipped and usually, in Stiles experience, ended with a slightly defeated exercise in mutual masturbation. Sadly, it was better than what he had now.

'Oh, what the hell. If he calls, I'll go. If nothing else, maybe I can get a blow job and an evening of conversation.' With that decided, Stiles reached for his lube, he tossed back the blanket and he jerked himself off.

 

Ten p.m. The worst time of the day. As a werewolf, it used to be the best. It was the setting of the sun and the advancement of the mystery and concealment of the dark. It was the hour of the hunt when a creature of the night would slip out and mingle among the trees, listening, watching and, like a menu, making a selection. When a victim was targeted, the game began.

Sometimes it was quick. Rush them as they stepped out of the shadows of undergrowth into a patch of moonlight. It was pounce and eat. There was no fanfare. No warning. The prey was too shocked to fight. Too stunned to squirm. Dead and cooling before they hit the forest floor.

Sometimes it was slower. It started in concealment. It was track and chase initiated by a haphazard series of events. It didn't matter if the victim was male or female, young or old. It was an exact, well-calculated blueprint that, when followed to the letter, never failed. And as architect of that blueprint, Derek Hale had executed it flawlessly.

But that was the old days. In the time before the great revelation when the lights were shined on all of them and they were regulated and licensed like dogs. At first there were rebels. Older werewolves who had lived too long in the dark and resisted the control of the humans. They were quickly  
hunted down and dispatched as a warning to the others. Derek was no fool. He was adaptable and he had taken heed of the warning.

He lived within the law. Just. He drove on the center line but never quite crossed it. He flew below the radar but that didn't stop him from soaring.

And tonight he was restless. His driving urge to own a human for sex and love was within his reach but just beyond his fingertips. It resided in that strange box that sat on the desk in his study, but he was still hesitant to delve further until his paranoia was mollified. He would wait until his tutor returned tomorrow and answered a few more privacy questions.

His tutor. Ah, yes. That was the real reason for the werewolf's twitchy mood. Derek had printed and stared at the colorful picture till his green eyes hazed red. The human was amazing! His body was incredible, pale and lean, flecked with intriguing dark moles and Derek had tried to imagine his own hand in the human's swimsuit, cupping his hot, throbbing flesh.

The profile said he was willing to try new things and open to new experiences. Did that mean he would consider a wolf lover? It was unheard of. It was strictly forbidden in some quarters. It was illicit and deliciously immoral. Just thinking about it had brought Derek to two spontaneous orgasms and he  
was still antsy.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He had to get out. He needed to feel the cool night air caress him as the darkness freed his movements. He grabbed his keys and slipped into his shoes before darting out and hurrying in the direction of the Voracious Wolf for a nip of wolfs bane-laced beer to mellow his brain.


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh my God! Son of a bitch! Damn it!"

The curses flowed as Stiles tumbled from his bed and tripped over the shoes that had been left out of place the night before. He had just opened his eyes, feeling relaxed and mellow, when he noticed the time on his clock and realized he had overslept. 

Again.

A string of expletives that would make his dad blush and doubt his parenting skills and threats to the clock's manufacturer followed as he jumped from the bed and rushed headlong toward the shower.

He had back-to-back appointments today and if he didn't get his ass in gear, he would be mentally thrown off-kilter the whole day. Starting with Crimson Velvet, a vamp cathouse that wanted to set all their appointments onto the computer, Stiles then hoped to knock off Bobby before lunch. Of course, the crazy factor was always the variable when it came to Bobby Finstock. After that, the afternoon would be free for his newest favorite client, Derek.

Stiles told himself that he wanted the extra time only because Derek was just beginning and there was so much they had not even touched on. He also hoped to get the werewolf started using his cell phone today too. It had nothing to do with the fact that Stiles felt comfortable with the strange, handsome wolf or that the apartment was simply incredible. It was just business. 

Strictly business.

Stiles leapt into the spray of hot water and lathered up as his dick lifted a questioning head in his direction as if to ask, 'Can we?' Stiles groaned and slopped a handful of bubbly body wash over his balls and stroked the base of his cock while he issued his apologies. "Sorry buddy, but we are running late. We really don't have the time for a slap and tickle this morning."

Buddy would not be dissuaded. He twitched in Stiles hand and promised to be quick, but Stiles stood firm on his resolve as he gave his underarms a fast wash and rinse while ignoring the fact that Buddy now stood hard and erect in defiance of Stiles direct orders.

"Damn you! I told you that we are running late! I said that we can't.... Fine! If it will shut you up and get us out of this fucking shower before we both wrinkle up like a fifty-year-old prune I'll spank you, but I hope you know that I'm doing this under protest!

Buddy didn't care. He wouldn't have cared if it were being done in the middle of an earthquake, or if a gaggle of nuns were to troop through the bathroom and snap back the curtain to watch. Which actually had been one of nasty Buddy's fantasies.

There was no deference. Buddy was single-minded. Buddy wanted to come. At least on the upside, Buddy was true to his word. In less than five minutes of squeezing with a hot, wet, soapy-slick hand, Buddy jerked, pulsed and added his own white strings of slime to the puddle at the base of the shower that slid easily down the drain, leaving Stiles relaxed, mellow. The only difference was that thanks to Buddy, Stiles was no longer as concerned about the tardiness of his morning schedule.

"I expected you an hour ago, Mr. Stilinski."

"Yes, I know you did. I was unavoidably detained. So may I come in and get started, or is this not a good time for you?"

Stiles stood on the threshold of the tacky, rundown, anonymous-looking brownstone building. The doorway was being blocked by an older, overweight woman with frizzy hair and way too much makeup (the last few years had seen a rise in something hitherto unheard of - overweight vampires. This was due entirely to chronic type two Diabetes in the human population and too much sugar laced blood). Although Stiles was in the wrong, the woman was a vampire and both of them knew he would not issue an apology. In fact, his question was an implication that if he walked away, it would be hell getting him to come back.

Immediately, she dropped her eyes from his and her blood-red painted lips stretched back in a garish smile as she stepped away from the door. "No. Sorry. This is a good time. Please, call me Peggy. I was just up working all night and I was a bit tired. I didn't meant to insinuate that...."

Stiles stepped around her and walked into the house as if he belonged there. "Yes, of course. Well let's get started. When you called, you said you wanted a file program set up to organize data. I'm sure we can do that in no time. Where is your computer?"

Peggy tightened the belt of her flowered flannel robe tightly around her ample body and she turned to shuffle off with Stiles in tow. As they moved through, his eyes scanned around in order to avoid the sight of the wide hips and bulbous buttocks that were bouncing ahead of him. On a vampire overweight was just - wrong.

The house was set up in nineteenth century elegance. As they stepped past the foyer, directly ahead was a wide stairway that apparently led to the working rooms upstairs. To the left was a large waiting area. Glancing in, Stiles noted that everything in the room appeared to be draped in yards and yards of dark maroon velvet fabric.

It upholstered the overstuffed, dimpled settees and the matching ottomans. It was tossed casually over small round convenience tables and it hung in heavy, vast amounts as drapes covering every window in the room, including the large bay window at the front. All of that light-obscuring material would have made the room pitch black if it weren't for the numerous lit table lamps that were strategically placed to offer just the appropriate amount of artificial light.

They were lamps of dubious value. Their rows and rows of faux crystals were obviously cheap glass which seemed more appropriate than if they had proven genuine, and as Stiles walked by, the weight of his footsteps caused the small tear-drop spheres to clink together musically.

It was all so replicated. It could have been copied from a book on the history of whore houses circa 1920, and yet it caused Stiles to smile. It was the epitome of tacky and tasteless and for some reason, he liked that. What happened here may give him the heebie-jeebies but Stiles knew it was absolutely good business. Like Stiles, Peggy understood her clientele and gave them what they wanted. She had targeted her demographic perfectly.

"In here, Mr. Stilinski." Peggy had proceeded down a long hallway and stopped at a doorway across from what was clearly the kitchen. The small office room seemed to have been a butler's pantry whose use was modified from storing nonessential human food products to instead be the only modern area of the house. It had a bright ceiling light, a desk, a file cabinet and a computer.

"Very good." Wasting no time, Stiles sat at the desk and he powered on the computer. As it came to life and loaded up, he fished around in his briefcase looking for the program he had brought, and he asked her, "When you called you indicated that you had the names and, um, anatomical data of some of your clients in the documents file and would like a standard business program established that would log and cross reference this information, is that right?"

Peggy leaned over Stiles shoulder, peering at the curious disk he had in his hand, and she nodded her fuzzy head. "Yeah, that's right. I want to be able to see who has paid and who owes. Who is a regular and who is new. Also, if I could list by kinks, then my girls would know when we have a client who comes in for a Red Riding Hood versus a blow job or an anal ream."

Stiles tried to be broad minded, he was a live and let live kind of guy, he kept his face unfathomable but his internal eyebrows were already reaching for his hairline. He swallowed and Buddy snickered in his pants.

"Um, yeah. I could see how that would be beneficial. Okay, so, I am going to install this and if you like, I can also go into your docs and pull the names of your clients to transfer...."

Peggy suddenly jumped back and began wringing her hands. "My records are impeccable. They are all vamps or wolves. I would never, EVER allow a human in my establishment. I know there are rumors of...."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Fucking vamps could be so paranoid. Due to the electronic intimacy of his business, he had more than once dealt with this fear, so he calmly issued his standard denial with as much earnestness as he could convey.

"Peggy, I can assure you, I have no affiliation with the IVWRC. That is a government agency and I am strictly a private, independent businessman. Think of me as a priest. What happens in your computer, stays in your computer. I promise you that I don't report anything to anyone."

Peggy's strained smile said she heard the words but still doubted their validity. At the very mention of the IVWRC she had visibly flinched. The International Vampire & Werewolf Regulatory Commission was the neo-Nazi entity that oversaw the comings and goings of the werewolf and werewolf community worldwide.

They had the power of life and final death. If they suspected a vamp or wolf was feeding or making new vamps or wolves they would send a "committee" to hunt them down and bring them in. Anyone who had been collected in this manner was seldom ever heard from again. Whispers of cruelty and torture were muttered among the vampire and werewolf communities and fear alone went a long way towards keeping them in line.

As a human, Stiles doubted the truth of such stories. If the IVWRC had to hunt down a rogue werewolf and dispatch him, certainly it was done with the well-being and safety of both humans and preternaturals in mind. Still, he could see the nervous twitch to her face, and her body language was braced for attack as he tried to put her at ease by patting the seat of the chair next to him and encouraging her with a genuine smile.

""Here. Why don't you sit down beside me and let's have a look at how this program will work."

Peggy slid into the chair and unconsciously leaned into the wonderful heat that rolled off the human. She longed to place her hand on his arm just to feel the warmth of his skin and smell the fresh fragrance of his humanity, but she knew better and therefore held back as he began clicking the mouse in a rapid secession of screens. She briefly recognized her documents page as it whizzed by and was startled to see it reappear on a ledger page with the names neatly organized alphabetically.

Stiles then clicked a few more times and the names recategorized themselves by dick size, ability to pay and even kink desired. It was done smoothly, effortlessly and it was everything that Peggy had hoped for. As for Stiles, it was a quick job that paid well and he would be on his way in just under an hour. They discussed using the files, including how to cross reference, and Stiles was delighted to realize that the cathouse madam was actually very bright.

Suddenly, before shutting down the newly installed program, an odd inexplicable thought popped into Stiles head and, on the pretense of making one last check on the operation of the download, he scanned the full list of clients and satisfied himself that Derek was not one of her customers. It was baffling to him as to why he should care. But he did.

With a mental shrug, he began collecting his things and dropped them all back in his briefcase. "Okay, well, I think you are all set. If you have any questions, just call me and I'm sure I can talk you through any problems you might have."

Peggy was leaning forward and staring intently at the marvel on the new screen. "Thank you so much, Mr. Stilinski, you are a genius. This will make our business so much more organized!"

With that, she reached into her bra and whipped out a wad of bills that she handed over to him without tearing her eyes off the miracle in front of her. With a chuckle, he flipped through to count it before placing a business card on the desk and excusing himself.

"I'm glad you are satisfied with it. I'll show myself out. Don't forget to call if you have any questions, and tell your vamp friends about me."

Peggy gave a wave of her hand as she began to type in additional figures and facts while Stiles backed quietly out of the room, down the hall and stepped out into the warmth and sunshine of the real world. There he paused, smiled and took in a deep breath of clean fresh air.

Bobby Finstock was next.

 

The smoky blue jeep rattled as it zipped through the dirty, narrow streets of the lower east side of the city. Geriatric jeep Roscoe and his odd human driver had, over the course of the past couple years, become a familiar sight in the areas of vampire and werewolf habitation and Stiles was no longer glared at as he putted down the roads. As his client list grew, so did the respect and level of comfort he shared with the supernatural population.

Before the big reveal, this was the human ghetto. The projects. The area of city blocks that were totally void of hope, compassion and dreams. This was the land where milk and honey had dried up so long ago that not even a sticky stain was left on the cracked sidewalks. After the emergence of the vampires and werewolves as not merely legends, stories and the stuff of nightmares, those humans who had no education or marketable skill beyond the selling of drugs or diseased pussies now had a commodity more valuable than gold. They had hot, fresh blood on tap and before the government could step in and establish the flow and meat shops, humans were selling every drop of blood in their bodies to vampires.

For nearly three months, it was chaos. The vampires believed they were well on their way to world dominance, and the poor and desperate humans who mistakenly thought they had just hit the Jersey Lottery were dying by the dozens on the streets and alleys, drained and discarded. The werewolves were appalled and dismayed to find they were most closely identified with the vampires.

World wide, the crisis was identified and wars were suspended as the leaders of every nation converged to construct laws and approve the dispatch of swift justice. The architect of the final plan which created the entity of the IVWRC was purported to be a Frenchman by the name of Huber. A man touted as the redeemer of mankind who was unanimously awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. His name became acid on the lips of every vampire and werewolf, though none had the courage to attempt a coup.

The first step of the blueprint for organization was that the military groups of the world had rounded up the vampires and werewolves, flushing them out of where they hid, and they were all sent to specific areas where they could be controlled and watched. It was as if the ghettos and projects had become the twenty-first century's reservations. 

For the past two years, Stiles had spent enough time in these areas that he no longer needed to punch the coordinates into the GPS. He knew which roads ran parallel with what alleys and he could traverse Roscoe on a dime when a U-turn took him down a one-way street. Despite all of this familiarity,Stiles Stilinski was no fool. You don't walk into a lion's den with an armload of fresh, raw liver and think nothing can go wrong. A vampire was still a vampire, a werewolf still a werewolf. Stiles habitually carried a canister of garlic spray along with a box of wolfs bane powder, and there was a sharpened stake tucked under his front seat.

Just in case.

Within an hour of leaving Peggy's vamp cathouse, Stiles was pulling up to the curb in front of the converted apartment building. At one time, it had been a Holiday Inn but when the struggling owner realized he could convert it into one-room efficiencies for vamps, his bottom line shot sky high. To his credit, the rooms were neat, well-kept and considered a step up from the rat and bug infested hovels down the street.

Climbing out of his car, Stiles pushed the button on his keychain to secure the locks and he started up the steps to the second level, to what Bobby called his 'bachelor pad.' Stiles prayed for a low level of insanity this morning so he could get out of here before lunch.

#212. Stiles knocked and immediately a muffled voice responded from behind the closed door. "Who is it?"

Stiles frowned and he placed his palm on the barrier to Bobby-world. "It's me. It's Stiles. Open the door, Bobby."

Following a long pause of almost palpable dimensions, Stiles heard the deadbolt snap and the door was cracked open just far enough for Bobby Finstock to stick his face out.

"Hi, Stiles. Um, what do you want?"

Stiles shook his head in disbelief and he could actually feel his hopes for a relatively sane discussion swirling down the drain. With a deep sigh that called forth all his reserves of patience, Stiles responded. "Bobby. You called me. Last night. Remember? You said that the people in your computer could see you and you wanted me to put a block on it. That is why I am here. I brought a, um, obstructionism program. Yeah, that's it. I will download it and no one will be able to...."

"NO!" The horrified expression on Bobby's face caused Stiles to take a step back and pat his pocket to assure himself that his spray was quickly accessible in case Finstockville turned ugly. Immediately when Bobby read the apprehension on his tutor's face, he hurried to explain. "Chill, buddy-boy. Old Bobby ain't gonna eat you. Hell, we is copasetic, ain't we?"

When a fraction of a nod was observed in Stiles head, Bobby glanced back over his shoulder into his apartment and then hastened to conclude this inconveniently timed appointment.

"Okay, here's the poop, Stiles. It was creeping me out that when I looked at the computer, I could just feel in my dead gut that someone was peeping back at me. That's why I called you, but then I got to cruising a site called, 'Vamp Babes. Dead and Lovin' It' and this demon doll by the name of Pinky popped up. I swear to all that's unholy, just as I was tuggin' one off to her sweet, little fleshy twat, she done looked me right in the eye and said, 'Show me what you got, big boy.' Well, let me tell you, Stiles, the fucking head of my cock damn near blew off like there was dynamite in my fucking balls! Woo wee!! So you can see how it would hurt her feelings if I let you put a block up so she couldn't see me."

Stiles stood there in the hallway staring at the section of face that was planted in the partially open doorway while a wave of sex-funk wafted out from within the apartment. His face was screwed up in a scowl of disbelief at Bobby's stupidity and for a brief moment he thought about trying to reason with the vampire and steering Bobby's understanding of technology toward the more logical side of the street.

But he just couldn't do it. As Stiles stared into the happy, hopeful face of a man, albeit a dead one, having a sex-filled happy relationship for the paltry amount of $4.95 a month, he realized that, sadly, Bobby was doing better than he was. How could he burst that bubble? He couldn't. So, with a snort and a nod of his head, Stiles grinned and took a step backward.

"Good for you, Bobby. Get back in there and show Pinky what the hell you got. Just give me a call if you need me to...."

SLAM! The door was shut in Stiles face and Bobby was gone. Stiles was delighted. Partially for his student, who was this very moment engaged in an imaginary courtship with the electronically enhanced Pinky, but mainly because now he could head over to Derek's place. It was a prospect that inexplicably tickled the hell out of him.

Typical of any man, dead or alive, any analyzing of his feelings was too complex and uncomfortable for Stiles, so he chose instead to simply go with it. He hurried back down to the street, jumped into Roscoe and he zipped across town to the oasis of polish in the tarnished neighborhood.

He told himself that he had a lot to do at Derek's and the werewolf deserved to get his money's worth. He refused to think it was more than that. He would not admit that he enjoyed Derek's company. That was too weird. So when he rang the bell and stood outside the door, he clutched his briefcase and hoped he exuded an air of professionalism tinged with a fraction of boredom.

After just one knock, the door swung open and the werewolf appeared. "Stiles. Good morning. I didn't expect you until this afternoon. Please come in."

Stiles smiled warmly at the greeting and the man who had welcomed him. He took a moment to notice that today Derek was wearing flannel sleep pants and a white tee. Stiles nearly giggled with delight as Derek stepped aside, Stiles slid in and the door closed behind them.

"I finished early with my last client and I decided to come over and get started with you. I hope that isn't inconvenient."

Derek rubbed his hands over his face. He had just gotten up a few minutes ago and hadn't even had his morning cup of tea yet or hot croissants and bacon. He ran his hands through his hair and scratched his scalp as he thought. Despite the insistent rumbling of his stomach, all he could think of as he looked at his tutor was the full screen image of the man, half-naked and smiling.

Derek was getting hard. "No, sorry. Of course whatever time works for you is fine with me. I have a couple things to do. Maybe...."

That suited Stiles just fine. He had a curiosity that put a cat's life on the line and a few minutes alone with Derek's computer was what he had hoped for. On the pretense of setting up the machine for the day, Stiles wanted to take a fast look at Derek's history file. So what if he had joined Bobby Finstock in the appreciation of some werewolf version of Pinky's come-hither look and her wet, drippy snatch. He didn't know why it should matter what sites the werewolf cruised last night , but it did. 

"No, no, that's fine. You go ahead and do whatever it is you need to do. I want to check some settings on your computer before we start for the day. It won't take me long and as soon as you can, you can join me and we will begin."

Without waiting for an answer, Stiles hurried over and sat down in the plush leather chair at the desk and he watched as Windows loaded up. At the same time, Derek's bare feet padded over to the kitchen where he pulled out plain croissants and a pack of bacon. As Derek cooked and ate his breakfast, Stiles quickly put the mouse through its paces.

Beginning with the first site, Stiles zipped through the next two and it became apparent that Derek was indeed interested solely in wolf porn. Surprisingly, Stiles found that a bit disappointing. He had somehow seen Derek as a cut above that. By the fourth site, his eyebrows arched slightly when he noticed that Derek was focusing in on man-on-man action. Stiles couldn't blame him. If the men on the screen hadn't been wolves, Stiles would have enjoyed beating his own meat to their athletic bodies and nasty poses.

They were dark, intimidating eyes and hard, shapely bodies. They sat on chairs and they lay on their backs. No matter how they were perched, they all had their legs spread wide open. Their erections were long and fat. Their balls were full and heavy, and as they fondled themselves, Stiles could feel the familiar squiggle in his own crotch that warned him to turn away before it was too late.

Derek swallowed as quickly as he could. Once the meal concluded, he could feel his strength and fortitude return as he relaxed. With the need for nutrition sated, all Derek could think about now was terms like 'open to new things' and 'loves to experiment.'

His fingers gripped the edge of the sink and he force-flushed the thoughts from his mind. Any indication or even the slightest hint that a werewolf was looking at a human in 'that way' would be dealt with by swift and painful means.

Meanwhile, Stiles was becoming obsessed. Each site he checked drove him to the next and he could easily imagine the werewolf sitting here in the dark perusing the erotic, sexual sites and masturbating. When the theme of the sites turned to dating and relationships, Stiles was surprised. Maybe Derek was looking for more than just anonymous sex. Stiles wondered if werewolves got lonely. It was a startlingly bizarre concept. With just two sites to go, he heard his student coming and Stiles quickly shut the history down.

With the intent of keeping a safe, innocuous distance, Derek set his chair off to the side of where his human tutor sat, and the werewolf folded his hands in his lap.

"Sorry if I kept you waiting, Stiles. So, where shall we start?"

Stiles turned to his student and he looked into the werewolf's beautiful green eyes. Despite the illogical concept, Stiles was very glad that Pinky was keeping Bobby busy today.


	6. Chapter 6

"Can't you do it for me?" Derek whined uncharacteristically.

Stiles remained firm. "No. If you don't do this for yourself, you will never learn."

"But...."

"Nope." Stiles added a head shake to his snappy reply.

"I...." Derek protested.

"Derek." The specific of hearing his name with such finality silenced the werewolf and he leaned forward to stare at the screen with a resigned sigh. Of course Stiles was right. That was why he had hired the human in the first place, to teach him. To give him the freedom to do in private what he couldn't ever imagine doing in public.

When Stiles read the concession in his student's posture he knew the question had been answered and as an experienced tutor, he wasn't surprised. Resistance was the norm with most werewolves and he imagined it was deeply ingrained into the dominant Alphas ... Change was hard for everyone and they were arrogantly stubborn, used to giving orders and having things done for them at a snap of their fingers, or jaws. Or so he'd heard and it was no wonder Derek behaved as a petulant schoolboy. What was surprising was how quickly he gave in. At any rate, they now appeared ready to move on.

"Okay, let's try." Derek muttered and sat directly in front of the computer while Stiles sat with his chair turned sideways, facing his pupil. 

Stiles legs were apart and his upper body was just inches from Derek's. It was very distracting for a werewolf who still carried the recent forbidden memories of seeing his tutor in a very small, very tight pair of Speedos that left little to the imagination, on a dating site and claimed to be, _'extremely open minded and up for anything'_. He wasn't made of stone and to make matters worse, as Stiles pointed to the screen, his hand inadvertently rested on Derek's shoulder.

"So to enter an e-mail contact, you click here to open the address book. Good, now type in 'Stiles' so that if you get any mail from me, that name will show up and you will know I am the sender. Next type in the address as it is listed on my business card ...." Stiles instructed and corrected Derek when he added spaces. "No, no. Don't insert any spaces. It has to all read as one word... Good. Perfect."

Derek's flushed with pride at the human's praise, his brain tried to focus on what Stiles was saying and follow the instructions but it was getting harder and harder. The spot on his shoulder where the human hand rested was scorching with a heat that was permeating down his arm and pooling in his crotch.

 

"Derek?"

"Huh? What? Oh, sorry, Stiles. I guess my mind wandered a bit. So, I think I got it. Not that any of the wolves I know will be sending me an e-mail anytime soon, but at least now I know how to enter their address."

Stiles looked into the sad, wistful expression of his werewolf student and he wondered what it was that made the man so distracted. Whatever the cause, Stiles decided he didn't like it. He would rather see Derek cheerful and smiling, but certainly not in a 'Yes, Master' way. Derek was one of those rare werewolves that just didn't seem to fit into the subservient role that the modern world dictated. It was thought provoking, yet Stiles knew that exploration of those thoughts could be dangerous for both werewolf and human so he quickly turned his attention back to the screen.

Stiles grinned encouragingly."You're doing great. Now, using my entered address, I want you to send me an e-mail and when I get home tonight, I will return it."

Derek's brows drew together and he scratched his head. "What should I write?"

Stiles sat back in his chair. He removed his hand from his student's shoulder and he smiled at Derek's contemplative manner over such a petty question. Then, surprisingly, as if Derek were dealing the cards for a magic trick, he cupped his hand to block Stiles view of the monitor and he chuckled.

"Don't look. You can't read it until later."

When Stiles grinned and turned his head away, Derek began hunting and pecking his fingers over the keyboard in a slow clackity-clacking sound. As a minor cheat, Stiles peeked out one eye and watched the absorption on Derek's face. The werewolf's green eyes were staring at the screen While his mouth concentrated into a straight line.. The sight caused a stirring reaction in Stiles body that was more than a bit unsettling.

"Got it!" Derek hit send and the message disappeared from the screen. With that, the self-satisfied wolf rocked back in his chair and clapped his hands as if he had just won a major military campaign. Stiles laughed at his student's exuberance and Derek found himself joining in. The next interruption to the celebratory mood was the obvious grumble of Stiles annoyed, empty stomach.

With an insincere apology, he rubbed his belly. "Sorry about that. I didn't stop for lunch before I came over."

Derek's eyes lit up. "Hey, if you don't object to your food being touched by vamp hands, I have a renter downstairs that was a chef before she got vamped. She fixes a hell of a pasta dish with marinara sauce. How about I call her up and she brings us up some lunch?"

Stiles eyebrows wrinkled in a slight frown as the smile fell from his lips. "Oh, no, please. That isn't necessary. I don't want her to go to any trouble. I can grab a burger on my way home." It was a trite, tried and tested reply and Stiles didn't give a thought to the effect it would have on the werewolf.

Derek was unused to issuing invitations of any kind, especially to humans. Obviously he was a fool to think that Stiles would want to eat in his foul presence and obviously Mr Stilinski wanted to keep their relationship strictly business and he could hardly blame him. His face fell and his shoulders slumped. He had been rejected, he read a dozen objections and nauseated concerns in Stiles refusal. He should have known better than to think they could be anything more than wolf student and human tutor. Derek had overstepped society's bounds and made a major faux pas. "Oh, sure. Sorry. I shouldn't have...."

Immediately Stiles read the indicators that Derek had misconstrued his protest and he quickly switched gears in an attempt to make it right. "You know what? I really am hungry and since we still have a lot to do, why don't you give her a call. I just didn't want to put her to the work of cooking, but if you think she wouldn't mind, I'd love to have lunch with you."

Derek's face lit up and his hesitant grin reached all the way to the corners of his eyes. "Really? You sure?" When he had satisfied himself that the human was not pulling his leg, Derek hurried over to a telephone that sat in the living room area of his apartment. He dialed a series of memorized numbers and cheerfully spoke to someone that, to Stiles, seemed to be more friend than tenant. Derek then returned to where Stiles stood, with the intent of offering the human a glass of wine, when they were interrupted by a loud buzzing coming from Stiles pants.

"Oh, sorry, that's my cell. Excuse me while I take this." Stiles pulled the phone from his pocket and he stepped off to the side. It didn't matter. He could have gone out into the hallway outside the apartment and Derek would have still been able to eavesdrop. Which he did.

"Stilinski Integration Services. How can I help...."

"Stiles!" The voice on the other end came in a loud, harsh whisper and Stiles groaned.

"Bobby?"

"Stiles. We gotta talk."

"Please, God, Bobby. Not now. Look, I promise to call you back tonight but I am tied up with a client now and...."

"This can't wait! It's anal, Stiles. Lord almighty, Pinky wants anal!"

Stiles rubbed his hands over his eyes. Clearly the crazy train had pulled into Finstockville and the only passenger was fully on board. What he didn't realize was that across the room, Derek's eyebrows had just ricocheted off his hairline and he was blinking in a rapid fire twitch as he interpreted both sides of the call. Whoever Bobby was, he had named his dick Pinky and he was now demanding sexual ass favors from Derek's tutor. Derek took great umbrage at the crass manner that this man addressed _his_ human, and he waited to see what Stiles response would be.

"Listen, Bobby. This is NOT a good time. Why don't you just turn Pinky off for a while and I promise to call you later. Go out for a walk. Watch some television. Just don't think about Pinky. Can you do that?"

Derek listened intently while Bobby fussed about his hard-on and the fact that he needed Stiles to come over in person and not just phone him. Finally, much to Derek's dismay, Bobby secured the promise that Stiles would make a personal appearance later this afternoon and the call was concluded.

When Stiles dropped the phone back in his pocket, Derek was standing in the kitchen with his back to the human as though the phone call had been of less than minor interest to him. Derek popped the cork on a bottle of wine as he struggled to understand why he should care. He had no chance with Stiles. Just the hint of impropriety could see the Feds busting down the door of his apartment and dragging him away, and he certainly didn't know Stiles stance on adherence to the law.

With all of this in mind, Derek reestablished his air of distance and professional detachment. "I hope you don't think it's presumptuous of me to offer you some wine while we wait for your lunch to arrive. If so, I can serve you in the living room and I'll wait here in the kitchen."

Stiles stood where he was and wondered what the hell had just happened. He thought he and Derek were getting on so well and now the curtain of division had been dropped between them. It only confirmed his suspicions that most werewolves were a bit whacked.

"Wine would be great but I don't want to drink alone. I would be very honored if you would join me." The line was delivered in a dramatic manner, with Stiles bending at the waist and sweeping his hand toward the sofa in such an exaggerated fashion, that Derek again relaxed and the slightest hint of the previous smile returned to his face.

The wine was poured and the men sat down. At first it was somewhat quiet and awkward with starts and stops of conversation that hunted and pecked at subjects that could be discussed, that broke no laws and skirted all grey areas. Reality television seemed to be the first strong point of agreement and the chatter began to flow freely along with the bottle of chardonnay.

The Bachelor was a douche-bag. The characters on the Jersey Shore should all be bitten and the fat girl on American Idol sang so badly that it should have signaled the end of the program as in, 'it's all over when the fat lady....'

Both men were rolling, and just as the last drops of wine were poured into Stiles glass, the doorbell rang. Derek jumped to his feet. He gripped the dead soldier by the neck of the bottle and waggled it. "Why don't you open another one while I put the food on the table."

Stiles jumped up and immediately dropped back down as the buzz from the wine swam through his brain and discombobulated his balance. With an unmanly giggle, he tried again. As he shuffled past, he noticed Derek speaking with an attractive blond woman who was handing the werewolf a large platter, and Stiles ignored the look of concern on her face as his eyes met hers.

"Derek, you aren't doing anything stupid are you?"

Derek glanced over his shoulder at the handsome man who was struggling with the cork on a bottle of wine. "No. Don't worry. He is just teaching me the computer."

The words fell far short of easing her concerns but she knew minding her own business was a matter of survival, so with a fractional nod of her head, she backed away as he closed the door. Derek then went about the business of filling two plates with food and setting them on the table. By now, Stiles had won his fight against the demon cork and was pouring their glasses to the rim with the golden, oaky wine.

The next hour was spent in pleasant conversation. It was light, easy, and the food went a long way towards sobering the human up. Despite the diminished effects of the alcohol, he still found himself very content and happy with both the company and the dinner. This was proving to be one of the nicest days Stiles had, had in a long time.

After the platters were removed and the last of the second bottle of wine dispersed, Stiles slumped back in his chair. As thoughts of a nap started to nudge at him, his phone again vibrated in his pants and he mentally threatened to ram Bobby's cell phone up his ass if it was another crisis. Reluctantly, he answered.

"Stilinski Integration Services."

"Stiles? Hey, hi. This is Trevor. You know from...."

"Oh, sure, Trevor. Hi."

"Hi. Um, I was just wondering if you were still interested in that, you know, quickie? I get off at ten tonight. If you want, I can get off at ten thirty too."

The offer was blunt and crude but they were men, not girls who wanted hearts and flowers. Neither of them was interested in dinner and a movie and that was the great thing about being a gay man. It cut through the bullshit and straight to the chase.

Stiles wasn't sure if it was the wine or the relaxed company but the fact was, he was horny as hell and the prospect of a fast one-off was just the ticket. So, with his hand cupped over the cell phone and his head discreetly turned to the side, Stiles mumbled, "Sounds great. I'll pick you up and maybe we can both get off before ten fifteen."

Derek angrily leapt to his feet and he snatched the plates off the table.

Derek had no idea why he was suddenly so irked. Maybe it was because they were still on the clock as far as time the werewolf had paid for and Stiles was eating up all that time by hanging on the phone with his fuck buddies. Suddenly a new twist on that thought stopped Derek dead in his tracks.

What if these were men that Stiles had met through his ad on the Internet? The very advert that had crooked its finger in a come-hither way and advised unknown males that Stiles was 'open minded' and willing to do all sorts of nasty disgusting things that no human should ever do to another. Okay, the ad might not have used those specific words but that was how Derek interpreted it. "Fucking humans," he muttered under his breath.

After placing the dishes on the kitchen counter, Derek called up all his reserves of composure. He blanked his face into an unfathomable mask as though he hadn't overheard the conversation and he turned around in time to see Stiles close his phone and drop it back in his pants. His slightly TENTED pants! Derek was aghast at the budding stiffy Stiles was sporting.

Stiles, on the other hand was oblivious to Derek's reactions. As he scratched his scalp, Stiles seemed to take an inventory of himself before he snorted. "Well, I hate to admit it but I think I'm a little drunk. I don't ever drink alcohol on an appointment and I suddenly feel like a nap has just been penciled into my schedule. I think I might just go home and...."

Derek rushed back into the living room. For some inexplicable reason he couldn't stand the thought of Stiles leaving and going straight into the arms of the faceless, dick-hungry Trevor or possibly planting a passionate kiss on Bobby's Pinky. "No. Wait, we aren't finished. You said we could set up my cell phone on this visit."

Stiles rubbed his hands over his face in an attempt to clear his brain. He wanted to go. He wanted to stay. His thoughts were scrambled and his feet felt big and clumsy. His dick was half-hard from the effects of the wine yet the tiny brain cell that still functioned told him to prioritize. This was a client not a friend. This was a werewolf not a human, and this was business. He still had a job to do.

"Yeah. Right. Okay, I'll tell you what, why don't I give you just the very basics. I will show you how to power it on, how to send a call and I will even put my number in your contacts list. Then tomorrow, we will go over everything else and we can practice making some calls. How is that?"

Derek found that resolution far from satisfactory. He wanted Stiles to stay and talk with him all afternoon. He wanted Stiles to fall asleep on his couch and not go to his fuck date with Trevor the perverted asshole or even that Bobby creature. In a shocking moment of horrified realization, Derek had to acknowledge the dangerous fact that he wanted...Stiles.

It was terrifying. It was both morally and legally reprehensible. It was simply out of the question and any hint of its reality was a certain death sentence. And yet, there it was. Derek was in a quandary that had only one possible solution. Nip it. Nip it in the bud. Put it out of mind and dwell on it no longer.

Stiles stayed one more hour. He gratefully accepted the black coffee that the werewolf offered him and his head cleared slightly as he refocused on the particulars of the job at hand. The phone that he had purchased for the werewolf was the grandma version, simple enough for a pensioner. It used a simple pre-paid minutes plan rather than a contracted phone plan. Most companies refused to sign up the undead and werewolves. Apparently demons and wolves were wont to default on written agreements, and they were lax about their credit ratings.

Stiles took out his own phone and he laid it on the table by the sofa where they sat. After he entered his personal number in Derek's abbreviated contacts list, he instructed Derek to call him. After two aborted tries, Stiles phone came to life as it buzzed and vibrated on the table. When Stiles picked it up and spoke into it, Derek's face lit up like the star on the top of a Christmas tree.

"Hello?"

"HEY! This is me. And that is you. I called you just like on a real telephone."

Stiles chuckled at Derek's unrestrained joy. "This is a real phone, Derek, and you can hang up by pushing the 'end' button like I showed you."

For Stiles it was mission accomplished. The alcohol buzz had come and gone and left him tired and muzzy. He still had a few hours before he picked up Trevor at the fast food joint, which gave Stiles plenty of time for a hot shower and a swing by the drugstore for a handful of condoms. Unfortunately, the wine, combined with the coffee and a glass of water had caused yet another predictable effect.

"Um, the fact is, I'm about to piss down my leg."

When Derek figured out what the handsome human was wagging on about and not suggesting a pissing contest, the werewolf laughed and pointed down the hall, indicating the third door to the left. 

With a grin of appreciation and unrestrained relief, Stiles gave a brief nod before he darted toward the facility. When the human and his active kidneys were out of sight, Derek was jolted with a sudden lightbulb-over-the-head moment that left no time for the weighing of advisability and he snatched up Stiles phone from the spot where it lay.

Copying the instructions he had been given for his own phone, Derek opened the contacts list and he quickly scrolled down. There was no Trevor listed, but that wasn't surprising. When Derek eavesdropped on the conversation, he had the distinct impression that Trevor and Stiles had no previous relationship. Trevor was probably just one more horny human that was reacting to the stupid ad Stiles had placed on the Internet site.

"AHA!" Derek flinched when he realized he had said that out loud and he craned his neck to see if there was any sign of Stiles returning from the loo. At that moment, he heard the toilet flush and Derek hurried to jot down the info on the only Bobby in Stiles phone. Just as he replaced the phone on the table Stiles reappeared, smiling and wiping his damp hands on his trousers.

"Whew! I didn't know one little bladder could hold that much. All righty then, I have another appointment across town later today so I need to get going. If you want, we can get together tomorrow and spend a bit more time working on the phone. We can try texting and I can explain about how the prepaid minutes work."

Derek nodded and smiled. "That would be great. Fine. Good. Yes. I know you are a very busy human and have a lot to do. Please don't let me keep you any longer. Tomorrow would be perfect and I will look forward to seeing you then."

As much as Derek hated to see Stiles go, he now had new fish to fry. Although the werewolf was no fool, he was certain he could accomplish his mission of investigation without crossing any legal boundaries. It was simply a question of curiosity. It wasn't as if he expected any end result other than the satisfaction of knowledge acquired.

Stiles collected his things as he gave thought to what an odd day this had been and the fact that it was only half over. He made sure he had his cellphone and all his paperwork in his briefcase. With nothing more to say, he left his student behind and he walked back out into the late afternoon sunshine. The cool, late-day breeze flushed his brain with fresh oxygen as he stood on the brownstone stoop and sucked the air into his lungs before he slowly blew it back out.

The weather was perfect. The day was amazing and it was one of those times in a human's life that Stiles knew it just didn't get much better. He had the world by the ass and there were no clouds on the horizon.

Now that he was feeling much more himself, Stiles whistled and skipped down the steps toward where his jeep was parked. Before he reached Roscoe, the phone in his pocket again buzzed and vibrated against his leg and he fished it out.

"Lydia." Stiles stared at the name and number on the caller ID. He knew he should answer, but if he did she would rag on him for not calling her back or stopping to visit. She would whine about the new shoes she wanted or she would bitch that she had gained nearly a pound. Whatever the cause for the call, Stiles just couldn't allow any downers to dampen his good mood. 'Nah', He decided. 'She can leave a message.'

"Pick up, Stiles. God damn it. Pick up the damn phone."

Lydia sat at the large desk and stared at her computer screen while she nervously tapped a pencil on her knee. She held her phone to her ear and listened as it rang again and again. Finally, after the seemingly endless ten rings, the automated voice advised her that Stiles was apparently unavailable and she was welcome to leave a name and number and a brief message. The voice swore on a dead grandmother's grave that Stiles would return at his earliest convenience.

*BEEP* "Hi, Stiles, it's Lydia AGAIN. Come on, sweetie, I know you aren't that busy. Call me back as soon as you get this, or better yet, stop over at my place. I REALLY need to talk to you. Please, Stiles. This is important."

Knowing she had done all she could, Lydia snapped her phone shut and she laid it down as she turned all of her attention back to the computer. The day was bright and sunny yet she had not been out of the house all day. Directly after her breakfast of whipped egg whites and sliced tomatoes, she had logged on and opened the Yahoo e-mail account that she had created in case anyone responded to the ad she, in the guise of Stiles, had posted. What she found nearly knocked her off her skinny butt.

There were no less than two hundred responses and over the course of the day, nearly a hundred more. It would appear that this was a good time in history to be a gay man in New York. Subsequently, she had been studiously categorizing and issuing each applicant a number on a scale of one to ten.

The range of men stretched from ugly, pathetic geeks all the way up to stunning Adonis's with obviously cosmetically enhanced hair and teeth. Their profiles listed shoe salesmen, aspiring actors and even a couple unemployed illegal aliens. Lydia quickly realized that the few lines of introduction these men wrote about themselves were almost moot when compared to the pictures.

It soon became apparent that the accompanying pictures told a story all in themselves. Some men included a shot of themselves standing clumsily with their hands dangling awkwardly at their sides while an unseen accomplice snapped the photo. Other men had the balls (literally) to attach a photo to their e-mail that displayed ALL of their assets. With their legs splayed, their cocks stood proud and erect while they stroked, aimed and marginally covered their manhood with a discreet hand.

They winked. They smirked. They licked their lips with long, pink tongues.

When the first few had popped up, Lydia had squeaked and shuddered at the respondent's blatant chutzpah of assuming Stiles wanted to see pornographic poses with bits and bobs wagging. By noon, she had worked her way through so many that they were becoming repetitious and her critique of them was beginning to include the fine points of, this one has a pimple on his ass, or ball-sac too small for the girth of his cock. Of course this was not to say that Lydia wasn't selecting several and doing a fast copy-paste into a file for herself. For later.

And now, she couldn't wait for Stiles to see all of this. He would be eternally grateful. He would gush and unending praise would flow like honey on hot biscuits, and when he looked through the pictures and read the graphic comments, he would surely find Mr. Right. Like Lydia, he would suffer eyestrain from examining each and every one as he concentrated on the applicants' most redeeming qualities.

For instance, David, a lifeguard from Encino, claimed to have no gag reflex and Charlie from Malibu declared himself loose as a goose. Lydia had assigned them both a top score of ten.

Now if Stiles would just call her back so she could get him over here, they could get this butt ball rolling.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a somewhat disturbing concept and one that Stiles was not entirely onboard with. He had never been one for cheap, tawdry sexual encounters, yet when Trevor suggested it, it had come across s the most brilliant idea since the wheel and sliced bread. Now that Stiles had time to think about it, and sober up, he wasn't so sure.

Stiles had never been a rodeo star. He wasn't one of those men who just wanted to go into the ring, ride a bucking bronco and then walk away slapping the dust off his chaps. Stiles was looking for stability, he wanted someone to talk to and spend time with, someone he could sit on the couch beside and maybe share a bottle of wine with.

"Wine?" Where had that thought come from? Stiles paused as he dressed in clean jeans and an Izod. The short nap he had taken after getting home had gone a long way towards making him feel more refreshed. After that, the teeth brushing and the shower with the extra long butt-wash had given him the confidence that he was now minty-fresh in both pink areas of orifice.

For a few moments, as he stood under the steamy hot spray, Stiles businessman's brain had again revisited his marketing concept of inventing a male douche for gays, to flush that certain spot of wrinkled mustiness before and after each rousing encounter. He was sure it would be a hit. He could even do an infomercial, the kind that plays on local cable channels at three in the morning.

Once he started to dress, however, all entrepreneurial thoughts floated away and were replaced by the uncomfortable knowledge that he was about to go pick up the spaghetti boy and bounce a few meatballs with him.

With that admission came the flow of thought that banked toward what he really wanted out of a relationship, and finally ended with the question of why that relationship would include "Wine? I hardly ever drink wine. Okay, yeah I did today but that was only to make the client more comfortable. It would have been rude to refuse such a polite offer, although I probably should have stopped after one glass. Or at least one bottle."

Stiles stopped what he was doing and he smiled as the warm memory of the very pleasant afternoon with Derek returned to him. It was bizarre, he never fraternized with his clients. He was always careful to keep that invisible curtain firmly in place between them and he was stumped as to how he ended up on the sofa, drinking and chitchatting, not to mention sitting at the fucking table and eating lunch.

Stiles frowned as he tried to rationalize and justify his actions while he pulled on a pair of clean white ankle socks. "No big deal. I have often met clients at the coffee shop for lunch to discuss contracts and set deals. That's all this was. Simply an extension of our contractual details."

Even as Stiles said the words, the giggle that followed and the squiggle that accompanied told him that he was spouting bullshit. He chose to pointedly ignore the red flashing warning light that was blinking in his brain. The funny thing was, just thinking about his afternoon was making his evening seem not only possible but downright necessary, as his annoying half hard-on was back and demanding satisfaction.

He checked the time. It was nine forty-five. He tied his shoestrings and felt that familiar nervous tension in his stomach. He stuffed his wallet in his back pocket and he stared at the obscene pile of condoms that were mocking him from the top of his dresser. After giving them a glare, he snatched up two and stuffed them in his pocket. Then as he turned to leave the bedroom, he grabbed one more.

Dashing down the walkway, he jumped in his jeep and turned the key. He had no idea how or where this little tryst was to take place, but thinking about it was beginning to make his head hurt so he blanked his brain, blocked his thought and drove off into the night. Destination, Spaghetti Junction. He was so focused that he never noticed the sleek, black Camaro as the muscle car pulled out behind him.

The short trip from Stiles apartment to the spaghetti shop was quick, which was why Stiles patronized it in the first place. He could get home before the noodles turned cold and that was a critical necessity when you were dealing with pasta that tended to gum up as it cooled. Now it occurred to him that the close proximity might prove detrimental. What if this encounter went sour? Could he still count on a bucket of their finest without spittle molestation of his sauce?

The concerns and questions would, for now, go unanswered as he pulled in front of the building with the red and white striped awning and the fat rat that darted into the side alley. Stiles wondered if he should go in. It wasn't as if he was meeting his date's father and asking for permission to court. He considered tooting his horn. Neither of those options seemed appropriate, considering the basis of the meeting. Before he could decide, the restaurant door flew open and Trevor came running out. Stiles reached across, rolled down the window and Trevor stuck his face in the passenger's side.

"Hi. Damn, you're right on time. Great. I'm horny as fuck. I hope you brought rubbers and lube. I'm in the mood to fuck till both our cocks fall off."

Stiles scowled. Fuck. Lube. He knew there was something he had forgotten. As he tried to work out a detour to another drugstore, it occurred to him that Trevor was still massaging the bulge in the front of his jeans and talking rather than joining him.

"So, my fucking boss left early and I am still finishing up. We aren't technically supposed to close for another five minutes but hell, no one will call now. Give me just a few minutes to shut down and lock up and I will be right back out."

Before Stiles could respond, Trevor was spinning around and rushing back inside. It was just what Stiles didn't need. Time to think. He turned off the engine. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with a tune that played only in his head and he tried to ignore the feeling in his gut that he was about to do something dirty and disgusting.

Adding to the quandary was the fact that Trevor was clearly a bottom and Stiles was sometimes mistaken for a top. It was a given that someone tonight was about to get short-changed.

As the minutes ticked by, Stiles became more and more convinced that he wanted out of this date. It was all he could do to not just turn the key and speed away. A resolution that assured he would not be eating here again. A damn shame because he loved their linguini. "Well, fuck. I guess I am just going to have to balls up and fuck the little twerp to ensure my future patronage. How the fuck do I get myself into these...."

The rest of Stiles muttering was cut short when Trevor again shoved his face in the side window. This time the bright, promising grin was gone, his fly-front was flat and his face was screwed up in a very unattractive scowl. "You're going hate me for this but I can't do tonight. Some fucking asshole just called in a huge order and if I don't fill it, the boss will find out and can my ass. Damn, Stiles. I'm really sorry. I know you were all set to ream my ass out and shoot a wad into my tight, hot...."

Stiles was elated, relieved and he felt like a prisoner who had been given an early release. He was in the best position possible short of hands and knees. He could put on the face of the wounded party and still ensure the future integrity of his bucket o'noodles.

"Oh damn, Trevor. That is fucked up. I was really looking forward to pumping my hard rod in and out of your snug little...."

Trevor groaned and rubbed his hand over his deflated dick. "Shit! If you fuck as good as you talk I'll be squirting in record time. Hey, I got an idea. Why don't you come inside with me. I can cook the fucking noodles and sauce while you cook me. Hell yeah, it will be hot as hell."

Stiles immediately realized he had overplayed his hand and he quickly backtracked, all the time wearing a sad look of martyrdom on his face. "No, we better not. What if your customer came in and caught us with me buried balls deep inside your body. Your boss wouldn't like that either, and frankly as a customer of Spaghetti Junction, I would hate to think that you were scooping my supper while all of those random body fluids were squirting and dripping all over the place."

A flash of guilt on Trevor's face told Stiles that he had just ordered his last serving of rigatoni. Damn, he thought. Who was it said, 'If ignorance be bliss'? With a sigh of disgust, Trevor nodded his head in agreed defeat.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right. Tonight is a bust, but hey, we can do this another time can't we?"

Stiles put on an expression of strained sincerity. "Oh, sure, Trevor. I'm looking forward to it. Tell you what, the next time I come in we can set another time and date. It'll be great. I'll pork the hell out of you. Guaranteed."

Derek sat in the dark in his car and he observed the scene act out silently a half a block away. He watched as the perverted Trevor leaned over and spoke to Stiles. He saw the boy's hands wave in explanation and he watched as the tan corduroy trousers swayed back and forth.

Derek knew right there and then that he was doing Stiles a favor. No one should have to fuck a man who wore corduroy.

When the punky Trevor finally stepped back away from the jeep, Stiles started it up and slowly pulled away from the curb as Trevor raised his hand to wave goodbye.

The minute the jeep disappeared, Derek flipped open his new cell phone and he again dialed the number on the front of the restaurant window. He watched as corduroy Trevor turned and hurried back inside to answer.

"Hello? Spaghetti Junction. How can I help you?"

"Yes, this is Doctor Dolittle. I just called with an order for five buckets and ten dozen wings."

"Yes?"

"Well, something has come up and I won't be needing the food any longer. I hope I haven't caused you any inconvenience."

"WHAT? Hey, I'll have you know...."

Derek stifled an uncharcteristic snicker and he quickly cut the call off by snapping shut his phone. He then waited just one more minute to watch with enormous satisfaction as predictable Trevor came rushing back outside to see if there was any sign of the man and the dick in the jeep, both of which were long gone. Derek laughed as the promiscuous Trevor stomped, waved his fists in the air and screamed at the only full moon he was to see tonight.

Derek had to admit that Stiles was right. A cell phone was VERY convenient.

Down the street from the Spaghetti Junction, Trevor was so consumed with his temper tantrum that he never noticed the black Camaro as it purred and came to life before easing away from the curb. As it passed him, the driver leaned over and took a satisfied look at the crazed human throwing a hissy fit on the sidewalk.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" Trevor flipped the bird at the nosy driver before stomping back inside to close down the restaurant.

Derek wiggled happily in his seat. He shifted gears from first to second and finally third as his car picked up speed. When he got to the end of the block, instead of turning right to follow Stiles, Derek turned left. He still had one more stop to make and there was no time like the present.

Reaching down on the seat beside him, he picked up the slip of paper with the name and address jotted down on it. He had a vague idea where Wood Street was and if he was right, it was not in one of the better parts of town. That in itself was perplexing. Why would a human be living in one of the more rundown sections of the city? Derek dropped the paper back down as he considered that to be the least of his problems. The first issue was to figure out a way to get a look at this Bobby person.

After three wrong turns and two backtracks, Derek located Wood Street and he slowed as the building numbers counted up. When he located the number that corresponded with the one on the notes section of Stiles phone, Derek pulled up to the curb and he stopped.

"What the fuck?"

Derek stared at the small placard that was attached to the front of the building. It was void of words but the red blood drop painted on it told the whole story. It designated the entire building as one inhabited exclusively by vampires.

Derek's brow concertinaed in dismay. "Bobby Finstock is a vampire? So why the hell is he telling my Stiles about his pinky?"

Derek jumped out of his car and he slammed the door shut as he marched up the walkway to demand some answers.

Derek looked up at he building in front of him, it had the appearance of a tacky, tasteless, rundown hotel. It was, no doubt, one of the government conversions that low income, jobless vampires and werewolves had been relocated to. These were the people Derek referred to as food-stampers. Poor, down-trodden and hopeless, existing rather than living, forced to accept human handouts and live on a shoestring, unable to get one of the many minimum wage service, dirty, repetitive or dangerous jobs that were designated as vamp and werewolf-approved and shunned by humans.

He already didn't like this Bobby creature.

With no hesitation, Derek marched up the walkway, into the lobby and quickly located the nameplate roster. Running his finger down the list of residents, he found the flat number of one R. Finstock. The fact that he didn't have a clue as to what he was going to say to Mr. Finstock was irrelevant as Derek bolted up the stairs, two at a time, until he hit the floor and the hallway that he sought.

When he emerged from the stairway, Derek looked around and snorted. The place was everything he had imagined. The long hallway outside the numbered apartment doors was narrow and dim due to the fact that half of the overhead fluorescent lights had been broken out for the comfort of sensitive eyes. The floor of the hallway was covered in a well-worn, red, faux oriental runner that was all but bare threads. The peeling, sickly green walls decorated with harsh, garish graffiti and gang sigil's.

Despite the broken and missing numbers from the doors, it wasn't hard to locate the one he sought. Derek stood on the outside and took a moment to get his temper under control. He had some questions he wanted answered before he ripped the head off this man-beast. He wanted to know just what Bobby's relationship was with Stiles and if Stiles had actual intimate knowledge of Pinky. A startling thought that sent shudders of revulsion rippling through Derek's body.

After taking a deep breath, Derek raised his fist and he pounded on the door.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG!!!!!

The explosive sound echoed throughout the entire second floor and it elicited an immediate response from the vampire on the other side of the door.

"HOLY SHIT! Who is it? What do you want?"

Derek gritted his teeth and he balled his fists up at his sides as he spoke to the still closed door, "My name is Derek. Open the damn door or I'll rip it off."

Fortified by the closed, locked barrier between them, Bobby pressed his forehead against the wood and he lowered his voice two octaves as he responded. "No. I'm not some little piggy and you can't huff and puff enough to blow my house down, so whatever you are selling, take it somewhere else 'cause I'm not buying."

Derek's first instinct was to simply slam his boot against the cheap, thin door and knock it off its hinges but he knew that an action of that sort would be deemed a breech of the peace. There was always the danger that one of Bobby's neighbors might summon the authorities, and the last thing Derek wanted was to draw the attention of the humans with the badges, stakes, wolfs bane bullets and tasers, so he tried another tactic.

He placed his palms on the closed door and he lowered his voice. "No, no, you misunderstand. I'm not selling anything, I just need to speak to you. I apologize if I came on a bit strong. Please, can I come in and talk?"

Bobby paused. His visitor sounded calmer but it could be a trick. Regretfully, Bobby had painted over the peephole in the door when he believed his neighbors were standing out in the hallway and watching him through it. Bobby firmly believed that just because he was paranoid didn't mean people weren't out to get him. "What do you want to talk about?"

Derek screwed his face up in a grimace as he struggled not to scream, 'I want to talk about ripping your dick off and shoving it down your throat,' but he knew that would not gain him entrance. Instead, Derek took a giant leap of faith and went for the truth. Or at least a sliver of the truth. "I want to talk to you about a human by the name of Stiles Stilinski."

Without hesitation, the deadbolt snapped and the door swung open. When it did, Derek found himself face-to-face with the vampire with bizarre hair and wild eyes. He had the unkempt appearance of an unmade bed and dark, receding hairline. To say he was unattractive to Derek's eyes would have been a generous compliment.

When Derek was younger and on better terms with his uncle, he had been told by him that every person on the face of the earth has either a pig face or a fox face. Bobby was no fox.

Derek was bewildered as he looked the trollish creature up and down. There must be some mistake. He needed clarification. "I'm looking for Bobby Finstock."

Bobby stood with his hand still on the knob of his front door and his body blocking the entrance to his apartment. His visitor was both intimidating and handsome, if you liked that sort of thing. The man was muscular, dark, and after Bobby gave him a quick sniff, it was evident that this Derek person was a werewolf. Still, the supernatural factor did not instantly carry an invitation with it, vamps and wolves still had a healthy distrust of one another and they unfairly blamed vamps for their present predicament. Bobby tipped his head questioningly.

"I'm Bobby. You said something about Stiles? What about him?"

Derek had, had enough pussy-footing around. With his palm on Bobby's chest, he shoved the stubby homeowner out of the way and he walked inside and looked around. It was worse than he had imagined. Empty beer cans and blood bags were strewn everywhere. Stiff, used cum rags were tossed to the floor near the sofa and the wall behind the computer was papered with pictures of a cheesy, slutty woman who apparently owned no clothes other than crotchless panties.

"Jesus H. Christ! How the fuck can you live like this?" Derek exclaimed as his brows drew together and engaged in wrestling match.

"Fuck you! " Bobby huffed indignantly. "It's the maid's day off and besides, your not exactly an invited guest y'know. So why don't you tell me what it is you came to say about Stiles and then get the fuck out."

Derek cursed the laws of the werewolf universe that made him breathe in the stench and Stung his nose, he faced off with the gross vampire. "I'm here to get a few things straight about Stiles AND your Pinky."

That got Bobby's immediate attention. The mention of his woman's name was like a lightning bolt that seemed to add five inches to his height. "My Pinky? What about my Pinky? That is a very personal subject, mister, and you better explain yourself quick before I dust your ass!"

Derek gave a disgusted snort that confirmed what they both knew. The odds of Bobby dusting his ass were about as great as his dusting his apartment. 

Zero to none.

As an exclamation point to that, Derek walked over and flicked Bobby painfully on the end of the nose. 

"Ow. That hurt." The vampire whined. " Fine, so what about my Pinky."

Derek crossed his arms and his biceps bulged.. "I want to know why you called Stiles this afternoon to tell him about your Pinky. Has he ever seen Pinky? Has he ever touched Pinky? And don't lie to me!"

Bobby continued to rub his sore nose. Clearly his intruder was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, not that, that was unusual, all vamps knew werewolves were barking. Still it was best to just go along with the wolf until he could evict the nutcase from his home. 

"Yeah,Stiles knows all about Pinky. He comes here to do my computer and one day he got here early for our appointment and Pinky was up. I showed him and he didn't seem to mind looking. So what business it that of yours?"

Derek was stunned into horrified silence. His eyes darted between Bobby's face and his crotch as the whole nightmarish scene played out in his head. Poor innocent Stiles arrives for an appointment and the door is opened by a unkempt, nasty vamp with his pants down and his pinky in his hand.

Derek was aghast. He took a physical step back as an expression of horror and disbelief formed on his face and he pointed an accusing finger directly at the confused Bobby.

"That's illegal. That is a violation of human law. Stiles would NEVER want to fuck your Pinky!"

The rage in the room turned contagious and now Bobby was furious at the defamatory charges against both his friend and his woman. With a swat to the finger that pointed at him, Bobby went nose to nose with his accuser. "That isn't true! Pinky's a vamp and Stiles wouldn't fuck a vamp. Stiles is one of the good humans and if you come here to accuse him of squirtin' over my Pinky, you is a liar!"

The firm denial, while confusing, did carry a ring of truth to it and Derek felt his ire cool slightly. Still, he needed clarification. "So, if Stiles doesn't cum on your vamp cock, why are you showing it to him?"

Bobby's face went slack and his eyes blinked repeatedly. Nothing about this whole conversation made any sense. It was as if this stranger had charged into the Finstock residence and began spewing Greek prophesies. It was time for one of them to start from the beginning and if Bobby had any hope of kicking this nut case from Finstockville, the rationality would have to start from him.

"Okay, wait. What? Look, Mr. Derek, I think you are a bit fuzzy there. Let me spell it out for you. Stiles is my friend. Yeah, yeah, I know he is a human but he is one of the good guys. So anyway, he came here to set up my computer and teach me how to use it. Well, one night when I was cruising through the...um...nature and travel sites, I accidentally stumbled across Pinky's Passion Palace."

Bobby's face went moony and he wandered over to the wall of pictures where he stroked his fingertips across the exposed vagina and lips of the skanky woman he apparently worshiped. "This is my Pinky. She talks to me through the computer and we have sex together. A lot! Stiles knows all about Pinky. He thinks she is the cat's pajamas too but Pinky is a vamp and Stiles doesn't fuck the likes of us. If you really knew Stiles, you would know that."

Derek's body relaxed and released all of the pent up tension he held as the truth and understanding cleared his mind. It all made sense. It all came together and the pieces of the puzzle fit the picture of his Stiles perfectly. All but the minor tidbit about 'Stiles doesn't fuck the likes of us' That statement should carry the codicil of 'yet' behind it.

With a companionable chuckle, Derek joined Bobby at his wall of shame and with a suppressed grimace, Derek tried to repair some of the damage he had done. "So, that's Pinky. Well, she seems very," Derek swallowed, he wasn't good at lying..."nice. She is certainly flexible and...wait a minute, did you say that she can see you through the computer? I don't know a lot about computers but I don't think...."

Bobby turned around to face Derek and the pitiful expression in the vampire's eyes tugged at something equally lonely within Derek. With a smile and a tenuous pat on Bobby's shoulder, he answered his own statement. "Yeah, that Stiles is a computer genius. If he can hook you and Pinky up together maybe he can find someone for me too."

Bobby's face lit up at the words of encouragement and suddenly he wasn't so sure he wanted to boot this stranger to the curb after all. Although it was hard for most people to believe, Bobby Finstock did not make friends easily, but who would have thought that today he would gain a new best buddy.

"Hell, yeah, Derek old chum. Hey, tell y' what, why don't you have a seat on the couch and I will warm us a couple of mugs of AB positive that I been saving for a special occasion. Then we can sit down and have us a long talk about our mutual pal, Stiles Stilinski. What do you think?"

Derek grimaced internally and felt nauseous at the prospect of drinking blood, raw meat was one thing, blood another. He looked over at the crusty, dubious sofa and a shudder of revulsion skittered up and down his spine at the whole scenario. On one hand, a long talk with Bobby would fill in a lot of the blanks in his dossier on Stiles, but was his stomach strong enough to actually spend any more time in this pit of spent passion? One thing was certain, either way he would be burning his clothes the moment he got home.

"Oh, what the hell. " Derek squared his shoulders, Stiles was worth the personal sacrifice. "Nuke it up, Finstock. I've got nothing else to do."

"Woo Hoo! You got it Derek.. You got it."


	8. Chapter 8

"Oh shit!" The exclamation traveled on a puff of air that spoke volumes of frustration and being overwhelmed. It had gotten to the point where Lydia was almost afraid to turn on the computer and log onto the e-mail account under Stiles dating name. She had considered just deleting the whole thing, but like a car wreck, it was morbidly fascinating and she couldn't take her eyes off it.

Each time she looked, she was flooded with the names, pictures and descriptions of hungry, horny men who wanted to do despicable things to the unwitting Stiles.

She was stumped by terms such as 'slapping dicks,' 'riding bareback' and 'humping the hound.' She refused to even imagine what fisting, frotting or interracial sex might mean and she was certain it was nothing Stiles had ever heard of or would consider engaging in.

It was like a whole world, a counterculture that flourished right under her nose. An alternative universe that co-existed unseen next to the real world of decent, wholesome people who wanted sex the old-fashioned way. She cringed as she wondered how much of this world Stiles was involved in. Not because she didn't want him sexually satisfied but because it was glaring evidence that maybe she didn't know as much about her old friend as she thought she did.

Adding to her concern and confusion was the fact that for two days now, Stiles had not answered any of her voicemails, calls or texts. She was beginning to be concerned for him and she was questioning the wisdom of starting this snowball that had grown to gargantuan proportions.

She considered just canceling the ad and wiping out all of the applicants but feared that by doing so she may be eliminating the one man that could be Stiles soulmate. And wasn't that the whole point of this exercise? To find Stiles happiness for him? No, she just had to see this matter through regardless of how distasteful it may become.

Instead, she decided to do the only other thing possible. If Mohammad won't come to the mountain maybe it was time to forward the e-mailed mountains to Mohammad. With that solution in mind, Lydia logged on to the over-full e-mail box. She went to the properties then the settings and when she came to the forward space, she typed in Stiles personal e-mail address and she clicked the mouse that would toss the monkey off her back and onto his.

It was a load off her mind when she shifted the proverbial primate and she hoped he appreciated all the trouble she had gone to for him. "Whew!" And Lydia went to bed with a clear mind.

 

" What a day."

Stiles dragged himself up to his front door. He turned the key and all but tumbled inside. It was late and after dodging the bullet with Trevor, who, now that he gave it some thought, was a creepy little weasel, Stiles was just glad to be home. On one hand, he wouldn't have minded a bit of free-styling sex with a willing hand that was not his own but on the other side, nothing is free. There are always consequences and a price to pay and Trevor could end up more expensive than Stiles could afford.

Stiles peeled off his shirt as he passed through the living room and he tossed it to the floor before proceeding to the refrigerator for a cold beer. While leaning against the kitchen counter, he tipped the bottle up and drank half of it straight down. After capping it off with a long, loud belch, he felt much better and decided to check his mail quickly before he dragged himself to bed.

While his computer powered up, he kicked off his trousers and he sat down in just his boxers. He took another swig of his beer and he clicked on the little white envelope on his desktop that said 'You have mail.'

"Okay, let's see who is.... ACK! WHAT THE FUCK?"

Stiles sat bolt upright on his chair. The forgotten beer was set on the desk and his eyes bugged as the inbox filled and the numbers kept on coming. At first his initial fear was that he had, despite all his antivirus programs, picked up a nasty bug that had infected his computer and opened him up to tons of unwanted spam. However, when he looked at the names of the senders, he was starting to see a pattern.

Peckerdick25, sirsucksalot41, hardandhung30, even though Stiles was a bit slow on the upswing, he was beginning to recognize a similarity so, with a slight hesitation, he began opening some of the messages. As he did, each one elicited its own exclamation before he went on to the next.

"Holy shit!! Oh, my, GOD! How does he do that? Holy hamster nuts! That guy can suck his own.... Damn, is that tongue real or photoshopped? Oh, eww. Who even does that?"

On and on it went as he found it impossible to stop. It was man after man who seemed to be specifically speaking to Stiles and Stiles alone. They made suggestions. Requests. Lewd, creative allusions and one had even included a penciled diagram that consisted mainly of tab 'A'being inserted into slot 'B'. Stiles took a moment to appreciate the artwork.

Stiles was stumped. He was concerned. He was totally turned on. It took only a second to come to the conclusion that whoever was responsible for this despicable flood of gay porn could be dealt with later. For now, he had a bottle of lube in the bottom desk drawer and about 500 men who were eager and willing to give him a thrilling evening. The only question was, who?

Quickly, Stiles wriggled out of his boxers. He sat butt naked on the cool, plastic seat and he opened his thighs as his mouse rapidly clicked through the countless opportunities. Some were too old, too young, too chubby and.... "Hello. What have we here?"

Stiles leaned in toward the screen and stared at the man who had draped himself over an overstuffed recliner. He had one leg flopped over the arm of the chair and his family jewels settled proudly beneath a long, thick cock. But it wasn't the girthy meat or even the staged pose that caught Stiles attention. It wasn't the man's encouraging dating name of beefytop69 or the fact that he had waxed his pubic hair, which was a kink of Stiles. No, what seemed to light Stiles wick and start the flame within his crotch flaring was the man's face.

He was young , mid twenties . He was tanned and the thick, dark hair hair on his head, shadowed jaw and sculptured body reminded Stiles of someone he could not quite recall. One thing he did know was that this was to be his date for the night. He dribbled a bit of warming oil on the head of his erect dick and hissed as he took himself in hand while reading the applicant's short profile out loud.

"Hi. I may look young but I know what I am doing and I have the hands, tongue and cock to prove it. I want a man who will get on all fours for me while I shove my fingers deep into his willing body. When I have you all loose and relaxed, I'm going to ram my hard nine inches so deep inside you that you will feel me in the back of your throat. Then I'll start pounding. I won't hurt you. Much. Unless you beg me to. Write to me."

Immediately, the dim room took on an intimate atmosphere. The only sounds were the quiet whir of the computer, the slippery slap, slap of skin on skin and the rapid, breathing of the slapster. Stiles moaned, groaned and spoke in muttered, obscene intimacies to the smiling face on the screen who seemed to enjoy watching.

As if they were really together, Stiles fueled the fantasy by speaking to the confident brunette, telling him what he liked and wanted. In his mind, the brunette was agreeable. To a point. But the stranger was also demanding and insistent. He wanted things from Stiles. He wanted to make Stiles do things that Stiles found dirty and shameful. It was incredibly erotic.

Stiles gasped and manhandled himself while he read through the profiled offer. After the third run-through, his own dick was jerking and pulsing in his hand. He shot wad after wad into the boxers he held against his slit until they were sticky and wet and his balls were soft and empty.

Afterwards, when he was slumped and spent, he swallowed the last of his beer and considered crawling off to bed. He was exhausted. He was brain-dead. Unfortunately, his dick was still curious and it twitched despite the fact that it had not entirely deflated. With a scowl on his face, Stiles looked down at it and asked, "Really? Are you sure?"

Buddy was sure and although Stiles had his doubts, Buddy had never lied to him before, so together they began scanning the e-mails until they came to another one that inspired Buddy to jump and harden. It was a picture and profile surprisingly similar to the last. Young, dark haired, tanned and ripped. Stiles shrugged. Who knew? Apparently Buddy had a type. With asnort, Stiles reached for the oil.

By daybreak, it took all of Stiles strength to push his chair away from his computer and rise on shaky legs. He rubbed his bleary eyes and scratched his wild, unkempt hair. His dick was so sore, he wasn't even certain he could piss without screaming in agony. Fucking Buddy had vastly overestimated his abilities and now Stiles would pay the price.

Luckily, he didn't have any appointments until later in the morning which allowed for a hot shower and a few hours sleep. Thankfully there was a quart of orange juice in the cooler to replenish his lost body fluids. He would worry about the origin of the barrage of male porn later.

 

"Oh, sweet Jesus on a jackass."

Derek's head flopped back and his eyes rolled up into his head. He had just jerked off for the fourth time to the smiling picture on the screen of Stiles pale, wiry, mole flecked body. The couple of hours that he had spent with Bobby had proven to be much more entertaining and companionable than he would ever have imagined. Raging insanity was apparently not an important variable in the gauging of a person's amiability. They had made arrangements to meet again the next day for a cup of coffee and O neg down at the Vampster Cafe.

When he arrived back at his apartment, Derek had turned on his computer with only the intent of running through the steps as Stiles had taught him to reinforce Derek's understanding. He went to his mail and, not surprisingly, found no new messages. Then he went to his ToothnClawfacebook account that Stiles had helped him create and he added R. Finstock as a friend. Derek now had one friend.

Then he wavered. Should he? No! He shouldn't. Human sites were off limits to wolves. If he wanted to look at gay porn he had already discovered that there were thousands of sites available. Sites that featured male werewolves biting, fucking and hurting each other with cold, hard cocks and razor sharp fangs. Or as Derek would put it, "Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda. Been there fucked that."

Oooorrr. He could accidentally stumble across the site that he had bookmarked at the top of his list. His inexperienced fingers could mistakenly type in the words that would lead him to a dating site that featured.... "Oh, yes. There you are my pretty. Come to daddy."

The moment Stiles face appeared on the monitor, Derek's dick began to fill, fatten and rise from the dead. His face shifted from its human visage to the wolf that was part of him. His vibrant, red eyes glowed as they stared at the innocent human on the screen. His throat rumbled in a low, deep growl that spoke to his intentions. He read the profile and although he couldn't accurately interpret the writer's aspirations, it was moot. Derek had his own aims and goals that he could, here in the privacy of his apartment, pretend were reality.

Stiles would be his. His human to use in any way he wished. That hot, willing body would open up for the Alpha that thrust his rock-hard cock into every orifice he could use. He would take the boy awake or asleep. On his knees or on his back. He would bend the human boy up like a pretzel while Derek satisfied every fantasy that might pop into his head. When finished, he would leave the boy sore, red and begging for more.

After just one encounter, Stiles would never let another human man touch him again. It was a fact. Once you go wolf, you never go back.

But that wouldn't be the best. The capper, the coup de grace would come at the moment of heavenly orgasm. With Derek buried balls deep in the human's ass, Derek would lean in, fangs flashing, and he would plunge into the meaty crook of his human's neck. When Derek imagined the hot rush of lust, willing surrender , his cock jumped in his fist and he squirted hot seed over his hand and onto the floor.

Again and again he set the scene in his head and again and again, his fantasy Stiles complied and squirmed for him. After the last time, Derek glanced down and he noticed the time on his computer. Reluctantly, he had to release his choke hold on himself. The sun had crept onto the horizon and he had five hours to shower and nap. His only fear now was whether or not he would be able to face the real Stiles without ripping the human's clothes off and plunging into the hot, body.

"Self-control you idiot!" Derek reprimanded himself as he hoisted out of his chair. Unfortunately, he forgot to shut down his computer before he stumbled toward the shower. _Tired of ads? Upgrade to account with Professional package of service and never see ads again!_

 

"Fuck. I should have just canceled." Stiles stood in the hallway outside the door to Derek's apartment yet he couldn't bring himself to knock. He knew he must look like hell. He had stayed p too late staring at the abundant tally of wagging whackers and pulling his own pud like a teenaged boy. It was a situation that had not been entirely corrected by four hours' sleep and a long hot bath.

His eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt and his gait was slightly bowlegged. He considered just turning around and walking away. What would it matter? Stiles client was only a werewolf, which meant that the aborted appointment would not require an apology or even an explanation. Stiles could go home and back to bed. Or he could sit down at this computer and.... The very prospect of allowing Buddy another stroll down Horny Lane caused Stiles to groan and bend over at the waist. If allowed to run amok, the treacherous Buddy would easily cause Stiles demise.

Still, despite his near-death experience, Stiles didn't want to miss this scheduled tutorial. In fact, the only redeeming light to this morning's dark physical condition had been the prospect of spending time with Derek. It was odd and somewhat confusing, yet because his brain was still flying on autopilot, Stiles was unable to suss out the deeper meanings of his feelings.

Therefore, because he was basically a go-with-it type of guy, Stiles raised his fist and rapped sharply on the door. After which he quickly licked the palm of his hand and swiped it over his messy tangle of thick dark hair to try and marginally tame its condition. And he waited.

When he got no immediate response, he knocked again. As several minutes passed with no response, Stiles had to face the outrageous possibility that he had been stood up. On one hand, that should have been a relief. A free pass to go home. But for some strange reason, that was not his gut reaction. He found himself disappointed to the point of frantic. He had come to see Derek and Derek was not home. Or worse, he was home and not opening the door. It was an outrageous concept and one that Stiles would not stand for. His knocking rose to the level of pounding and was now accompanied by the shouting of the werewolf's name.

"Derek! Hey, Derek!! Open the fucking door!"

Hearing his name shouted jolted Derek from his sound, peaceful sleep. His head snapped to the side and the sudden shock caused his face to shift and his fangs to drop defensively. When the combined understanding of the time on his clock blended with the recognition of Stiles voice, his comprehension told him that he had not only overslept but that he was committing the felonious offense of disrespect to a human. Derek leapt from his bed and he rushed toward the door.

Stiles was beginning to feel an irrational frantic desperation rise within him at the prospect of not seeing Derek today. The limited function of his brain said it was unimportant but his gut told him something else. Something undefinable and incomprehensible niggled at him. All he knew was that he needed to see the werewolf.

Now. 

As his fist aimed for another round of pounding, Stiles was startled when the door was jerked open and he found himself face-to-face with the stark naked wolf..

Stiles stared into the bleary green eyes while his flummoxed human brain repeated the manta, 'Don't look down. Don't look down.' Despite his best efforts, he blinked and glanced down. When he did, his mouth gaped open, the oxygen stopped flowing to his lungs and his skull threatened to explode as he realized that the rumor of werewolves being freakishly hung were apparently based in fact. A quiet "Eep" escaped his lips as he took a small step backwards.

"Oh. Um, did I.... Were you sleeping?"

Derek scratched his head as he scowled at the human who was having some sort of attack on his doorstep. "Yeah, sorry. I had a bit of a late night. Didn't mean to make you wait. Please come in and...." Derek frowned and a look of concern flickered across his face. "Are you all right?"

Stiles cheeks flushed a rosy shade of red as he hemmed and hawed and tried not to gawk at the most incredible body he had ever seen. The werewolf's skin was tanned, smooth, lightly covered with dark hair on his chest, forearms and legs, lean, well-sculpted, muscules and powerful. It was like gazing at a Photoshopped masterpiece. Stiles breathing came in shallow spurts and his fingers flexed and twitched at his sides.

And the hormonal flush caused the human to smell fucking incredible.

As Derek stood aside and allowed his tutor to slip by, the aroma of hot, fresh human combined with testosterone and the heady fragrance of arousal caused a tingle in Derek's crotch that reminded him of his clothing-challenged state.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn't realize that I wasn't wearing.... It's just that I usually sleep naked and when you knocked.... Please. Have a seat. I'll run and pull something on and be right back." Derek spun on his heels. His hands discreetly cupped his burgeoning erection and he hustled away.

As he skittered off, Stiles blatantly stared at the wonderfully firm butt cheeks and decided the werewolf looked as good going as he did coming. Buddy agreed. It was a concept that Stiles found horrifying and he immediately reprimanded the wayward dick with no morals. "Don't you even fucking think about it, you moron. That is a fucking werewolf, you prick."

Once he felt a semblance of self-control, Stiles relaxed a bit as he looked all around. Although this was only his second time in Derek's place, it already felt comfortably familiar. In order to get his mind back on business, Stiles decided to start on the computer lessons and he shouted in the direction that the wolf had gone. "I'll power up your machine."

The disembodied voice called back. "Yeah, right. Be just a minute."

Sitting in front of the computer, Stiles wiggled the mouse and the screen came to life. When it did, what he saw there was the second big shock of the day and his brain refused to believe what his eyes were seeing. It couldn't be. It had to be a mistake. It must be a joke. He glanced up, half expecting to see his friends and family jump out and laugh at his having just been punked.

But no one was there.  
This wasn't a joke.  
His hand drifted up and brushed over the face on the monitor as if to verify its validity.  
It was him. His smiling face. His bulging Speedo.

He recognized the picture. He remembered when Lydia had taken it, but that recollection in no way explained or jibed with the fact that it was now plastered in full color on this werewolf's computer. "What. The. Fuck." It was less a question than a declaration of stunned disbelief. As his tech-savvy mind then proceeded to the destination that pinpointed this as not only on Derek's computer, but the fact that the computer was already logged on to the Internet, Stiles physically swayed in his seat.

His peripheral vision grayed out and his ears buzzed. He began hyperventilating and the tiny hairs all over his body stood straight up at the roots. He was so consumed with what he was seeing that he was totally unaware that Derek had returned and was now directly behind him.

Derek had taken only seconds to dress and return. As expected, his tutor was seated at the computer, but it wasn't until Derek came closer that he realized why Stiles was frozen, silent and ramrod straight. Derek's hand came up and slapped over his mouth. He had forgotten to log off. There was no logical explanation he could offer.

Derek had broken a human law whose punishment could mean arrest and instant execution.

He swallowed. When he spoke, his tone was low and his voice was shaky. "Stiles. Wait. It isn't what you think. It was a mistake. I didn't know.... I accidentally...."

Stiles spun around in the swivel chair and he faced off with the werewolf who was standing back with his palms up in a mode of surrender. Stiles could feel his pulse hammering in his chest as he slowly rose to his feet. He stabbed an accusing finger towards the screen and he demanded in a barely restrained fury, "What the hell is this? How did you find this picture?"

Derek nodded quickly. This was good. This was a chance to explain before Stiles summoned the authorities. "Okay, so like I said, it was a mistake, yeah? See I was sitting here practicing like you told me to and, sure, I was cruising some vamp porn sites when I got sidetracked onto a couple dating sites. From there it went to a human dating page. I swear to God, I didn't know I had to always type in 'werewolf' before the web address. I know it is illegal to look at human sites that...."

Stiles frowned and looked back at himself on the screen. All of the okey-doke that Derek was babbling sailed over his head and the only thing landing was the bit about this being a human dating site. His face screwed up in confusion. "Wait. What?"

Derek stopped talking and he tried to guess what part of that Stiles wanted clarified. He went for the most beneficial. "Um, I'm innocent?"

Stiles blinked and looked into the clear, anxious, green eyes and attempted to untangle the perplexing facts. "No, I mean about the dating site part. My picture is on a dating site? Who the hell.... LYDIA!"

The lightbulb over Stiles head snapped on and suddenly it all made sense. The barrage of e-mails from men who were looking for energetic and creative hook-ups were a response to this picture and ad. Immediately, he dropped back down into the seat and he studiously scrolled down to read his own profile, groaning as he did. Derek hesitantly felt the spark of hope that he may just dodge this bullet as Stiles seemed less concerned that he was being ogled by a wolf than he was about being ogled at all.

"So you didn't post this? You aren't in the market for.... Not that it is any of my business, I just wondered...."

Stiles head snapped around and lightning flashed in his eyes. "Fuck no, I didn't put this crap up. I am NOT that desperate! I don't need to beg strange men to...."

Derek again jumped in, "Oh no, no, of course not. Anyone who looks at that picture could see that a man with your hot, good looks and sexy body doesn't have to...."

Stiles cocked his head to the side and his eyebrows rose as a good portion of his anger melted away. "You think it is a sexy picture?"

Derek knew this conversation had wandered into treacherous territory and the appropriate response would be for him to humbly drop his eyes, clasp his hands behind his back and quietly respond with, "I wouldn't know, sir." But he didn't. He did the unthinkable. He stepped forward and in a low, husky whisper he answered, "I think it is the hottest thing I have ever seen."

The sound of Stiles gasp was audible as his mind conjured up the image of the naked werewolf sitting at his computer, staring at the image on the screen, and suddenly Stiles knew with absolute certainty that Derek had spent his evening engaged in the same activity that Stiles had. With one glaring difference. He had jerked off to a random picture, Derek had jerked off to Stiles!

As the mental chain of events reflected themselves in Stiles shifting expressions, Derek had all but forgotten the huge, dangerous barrier that stood between them. He was so turned on that a deep, rumbling growl rolled from his throat and he eased forward inch by inch. Stiles froze. His feet were nailed to the floor and he felt like a deer in the headlights. Buddy was in heaven as he rose and pressed his head against the restrictive zipper of Stiles pants.

"Wha...what are you doing?"

Derek slithered even closer and his tone turned oily and slick. "I'm taking a giant leap of faith, Stiles. I'm putting my continued existence in your hands, as it were, because I know that this...," Derek pointed an accusing finger towards the picture on the screen, "isn't what you want. I think you are looking for something else. Is that right, Stiles? Are you hungry for something that you can't quite define? Something dangerous? Something dark, green eyed and totally forbidden?"

"Yabba...de...or...arg?"

By this point, there was no turning back. If Derek was to be executed, he would go out with a smile. In the blink of an eye he closed the remaining space between them. He grabbed a painful fist of Stiles thick, dark hair and he slammed their lips together in a searing, passionate kiss that turned Stiles legs to jelly and lit Buddy on fire like a tiki torch.


	9. Chapter 9

The universe shifted and Stiles felt as if the ground beneath his feet were falling away as the incredible kiss continued. When it first happened, his gasp of shock had been pounced upon as a window of opportunity for the werewolf to shove his tongue into Stiles mouth and attempt to devour the human from the inside out.

The small portions of fear and disbelief that tried to make themselves known were quickly swept away as Stiles body reacted to the power and erotic sexuality of the handsome werewolf. Despite his larger size, Stiles felt safe and comfortable in the werewolf's arms, and that feeling of submissiveness was turning him on even more and fueling the fire that flamed within him.

Legality and morality didn't exist anymore. All that mattered was this kiss and the oddly warm lips that pressed against his. Stiles whimpered and Derek growled as each man took what they needed from the other. Their bodies surged with heat and want while their cocks screamed for release as Stiles clutched at Derek's Henley and his hips arched forward.

Finally, when Derek realized that a lack of oxygen was becoming a problem for his human, he reluctantly broke the kiss and leaned back to look into Stiles face and gauged the level of damage he had done. Funny thing was, if he was to be executed, it would have unquestioningly been worth it.

As Stiles sucked air into his lungs, he staggered back. His face was flushed, his eyes were hooded and glazed over as the forest fire within his body was showing no signs of extinguishing itself. Automatically, his hand drifted down to press against the hard-on that refused to deflate without a spanking.

He had never been so turned on in his life. His butt-hole flexed and winked in his trousers. His lips smacked and puckered as they independently considered lurching forward for a reattachment while Stiles slowly functioning brain could only focus on the question, 'Why did we stop?'

Gradually, however, the intense expression of concern on Derek's face caused an ugly reality to surface and make itself known. When it did, Stiles took two steps back. His eyes bugged and his fingertips brushed over his tingly lips as he found his voice with just one word. "Oh."

And there it was. Derek snorted and turned away. He couldn't bear to see the disgust, shame or outrage that he knew was about to swim to the surface on his boy's face. Derek was no fool, yet he had done an amazingly foolish thing. He never understood how, after thirty years, he had such little impulse control.

If Derek had stayed focused on Stiles, he might have been in for a surprise. Oh sure, the initial what-the-fuck moment smacked Stiles in the face with a jolt akin to a taser to the balls, but after that, something else seemed to outweigh the human-werewolf component in the situation. Something unexpected and completely irrational. Stiles was still totally attracted to Derek.

Derek was everything Stiles knew he had been waiting for in a man. He was handsome, smart, funny and obviously dominant as hell. He was more than a top. He was a tippity top. He was a top that would demand a submissive bottom which, just by the luck of the pecker gods, Stiles happened to be. Oddly enough, sex aside, he really liked Derek. If Stiles hadn't wanted to bend over and bark for Derek, he would still want to be the werewolf's friend.

Werewolf. There was the glitch in the works. The fly in the ointment. The broken cog in the wheel. The bubble in the lube bottle. The one small factor in this equation that made the whole math incalculable.

Or did it? Stiles tipped his head to the side and he watched Derek's straight-backed bravado as he moved toward the kitchen. Oh sure, Derek was a werewolf, but why was that a deal-breaker? Why had such stringent laws been passed in the first place? What was it the government thought fraternization would cause? Stiles palm pressed against the throbbing, rhythmic pulse in his groin and he knew what a close relationship with a werewolf could result in. 'Okay,' he thought, 'that part would not be for the good but who says you can't practice safe lycanthropy? Werewolfism isn't contagious.'

"Derek. I...."

Derek stood with his hands gripping the kitchen counter and his eyes squeezed shut. "Go home, Stiles, and do whatever you have to do. I made a mistake. I'm sorry. Please just go."

Stiles took a hesitant step forward but the twenty-five feet of space between them now seemed like miles. "Do whatever...? Oh, you mean report this to the authorities? Damn, Derek, I would never do that. You didn't force me to.... Okay, you kinda did but I wasn't exactly objecting. I mean, yeah it was a shock but...."

Derek turned around and glared at the babbling boy who might or might not regret what he was saying later. "Go home. Think about this after the blood has returned to your brain, and maybe tomorrow you can let me know if we can continue our lessons or not. If not, I will understand. Either way, this won't happen again. I promise. I don't care about me, but this is too dangerous for you."

Stiles studied the werewolf's green eyes and he read the honesty and concern there. Fraternization was not just a taboo, it was a felony of the incarceration and execution level. It was not to be taken lightly. Stiles had no words that could express what he thought or felt, so he just nodded. He picked up his briefcase and he walked out the door.

"FUCK!" When he was alone, Derek slammed his fist into the wall next to his toaster and watched as the plaster dust floated through the air in slow motion and settled on his four-slice, nearly new appliance. He wasn't in fear of his life because he would bet everything he had against Stiles reporting him. No, he was mad at himself for allowing his feelings to override his common sense and his heart to voice an opinion. Thirty years old and Derek was still a romantic idiot.

Stiles blinked against the bright sunlight as he stepped outside the building. The chirping of the birds mocked him with their normalcy and the warm breeze that gently fluffed his hair seemed to whisper incoherently in his ear. Like a robot, he put one foot in front of the other until he reached his jeep and fell in behind the wheel. Without conscious thought, he threw it in gear and drove away.

 

"Derek. Hi! Over here. I got us a table and a couple of steamy mochabloods."

Derek stood in the doorway of the Vampster Cafe and tried not to grimace. He had waffled for over an hour as to whether or not he was up to keeping his date with Bobby but since brooding and pacing around his apartment didn't seem to be working for him, the prospect of getting out and clearing his mind was sounding better and better.

The Vampster Cafe was a casual meeting place. A vamp joint primarily that catered for the occasional wolf. It did not pretend to cater to humans. There were no donuts or sandwiches. No croissants or fruity drinks. It was simply a clean, relaxing spot where a vamp or wolf could hang out with his own kind and sip a warm cup of caffeine or sample the lovely variety of blood and plasma blends. On an especially hot, summer afternoon, the menu board included several chilled specialty items and fresh, raw venison steaks.

It was a room void of flowers, white table covers or frilly doilies. There was no need for a furnace or an air conditioning unit since the normal body temperature of the walking dead had very little variance and wolves ran hot normally and dealt with extremes of temperature with ease. There were no pictures on the walls and no lilting background music to annoy their sensitive hearing.

The Vampster was not a flow shop. It purchased wholesale in order to not even have sellers in the back room. It was a totally human-free zone and that was something that most vamps and werewolves, especially the newer ones, appreciated. It was exactly what Derek needed.

In response to Bobby's bouncing, arm-flailing antics, Derek's hand lifted slightly and he smiled before he headed through the crowded room of small round tables and chatting supernaturals. He was glad he had decided to come. It was good to be among his own kind. Besides, Derek needed to talk and Bobby Finstock was the perfect sounding board.

Bobby was no fledge. He had been around probably longer than Derek which meant that he had been part of the glorious carnage that was in the before-time. The fact that he had survived pointed to the fact that Bobby had bit and sucked blood-filled humans. Despite the threat of the authorities, those were wonderful vamp memories that were not so easily forgotten.

When he reached the table Bobby dropped down into his seat and, beneath the table, his foot shoved Derek's chair out for his companion to sit. "Hey, Derek ol' buddy. Sit down. Fuck if the Vampster isn't crowded today. I had to flash a fang to get a couple old lady vamps to vacate this here table. Woo wee. I'm surprised I was able to drag my dead body out of bed this morning. Me and Pinky had a hot and heavy last night if y' know what I mean." He tapped the side of his nose knowingly with his forefinger

Derek's forehead wrinkled slightly at the way Bobby was winking and waggling his eyebrows as he sucked his teeth. Sadly, Derek realized that Bobby and the electronically transmitted Pinky had a more satisfying sex life than he did. What a fucked up life this was.

"Um, yeah, Bobby, I get what you mean. Say, Finstock, let me ask you a question."

Bobby sipped his warm, thick mug of sustenance and he wiggled happily in his seat. "Sure, Derek. Whatcha wanna know?"

Derek set his cup down and he leaned forward, keeping his voice low and quiet. "You ever been attracted to a human?"

Unexpectedly, Bobby spit his mouthful of blood out in a spray that spattered directly into Derek's face where it dripped off his nose and ran down his shirt front. The rest of the room fell silent as every other vampire and wolf's head snapped in their direction. Vampires were a volatile bunch and mixed with werewolves spontaneous violence was the norm, but not generally in the Vampster cafe.

Bobby's mouth gaped open and his eyes bugged, not at what he had done but at the words that Derek used. He considered screaming like a little girl and running away, but shock held him frozen in his chair. The only save was that he was reasonably sure that Derek had not been overheard.

Hoping to minimize the damage and not draw anymore attention to them, Derek took his napkin and he calmly wiped the splattered mess off his face as he chuckled nonchalantly.

"Oops. That was a hell of a sneeze, Bobby. Ha ha. No harm done."

Bobby's eyes darted around the room nervously to see if anyone was reading between the lines. When it appeared that they weren't, and patrons were in fact returning to their own interests and business, Bobby shoved his own paper napkin across the table and he twitched. "Oh, yeah, huh. Something must have IRRITATED. Good thing that won't happen again."

Derek chose to ignore the veiled threat and hint. After cleaning as much of the sticky substance off himself as he could, he again leaned forward. "Calm down, Bobby. You are drawing attention to us."

"ME?" Bobby Finstock was incredulous at the outrageous accusation, but before he could voice his objections, it became clear that Derek was not going to let this subject drop. "No, Derek, I have never...done THAT!"

Derek immediately scooted his chair around the circumference of the table until he was uncomfortably close to his companion. He then turned sideways, rested his elbow on the table and his head on his hand so that he would be speaking directly into Bobby's ear and he clearly, slowly enunciated his announcement. "I kissed Stiles Stilinski today and I think he liked it."

Bobby Finstock's chair fell over backwards and he fainted dead away.

 

"WHERE The FUCK IS SHE?" Stiles hissed standing on the threshold of the Martin mansion bristling with righteous indignation.

Mable stood in the doorway and she blinked at the familiar face on the stoop. It was clear that Mister Stiles was highly irate and the chubby maid tried to estimate if that anger was reaching a level of danger and if it had anything to do with the near-naked picture. In the end, she decided that this was Stiles and she had never known him to be threatening. Besides, whatever he was so fired up about was no doubt justified. Without asking who "she" was, Mable stepped aside. "Miss Lydia is out on the patio."

Construed as his invitation to enter, Stiles stormed past her and he marched directly toward the open French door and the small figure that could be seen lying by the pool.

"Goddamn it, Lydia! How the fuck could you do such a crazy thing without asking me first. You went behind my back and posted that fucking crotch-shot on the fucking INTERNET! Then to make matters worse, you made me seem like a pathetic, dick-hungry moron! What the fuck were you thinking?"

Like a redheaded tiger, Lydia stretched her body in a slow, languid roll as she eased over on the beach towel that covered her lounger. When she was fully on her back, she arched up so that her naked, pebbly nipples pointed toward the smiling sun as her hands drifted down across her stomach.

"Do you think I am getting too much sun on my breasts?"

Stiles shifted his weight to his right leg and crossed his arms over his chest. He knew what she was doing, and he was as wrong a tree as ever had been barked up.

"I'm gay, Lydia. You should know by now that you can't distract me with a couple of flat, limp tits so get your scrawny ass up off that pool chair and talk to me."

"Ack!" Lydia's demeanor flipped like a toggle switch as she flung her legs over the sides and sat up. Immediately, she cupped her breasts and bounced them off her palms to judge and estimate their bounceability and elasticity. "They aren't flat and limp. These are perky boobies, pal. I might have to concede on the scrawny ass point but these are primo jugs."

Despite his resolve to remain firm and critical, Stiles felt his anger melt away and he dropped down onto the plastic, webbed chair beside her. "Jesus, Lyds. How could you do that to me? We took that picture years ago and you promised it would never see the light of day. Then you went and posted it on the goddamn web. You offered me up like a Christmas ham to be devoured and passed around by a thousand strange men. Did you really think that was what I wanted?"

Lydia's legs crossed in front of her and she studied her friend's eyes. She had the strange feeling that there was something else that had upset him besides a plethora of horny men, and her apology did not quite ring true. "I was only trying to help. Did you even give it a shot? Did you read any of their profiles? Some of them were downright yummy. Maybe...."

"No, Lydia, I am not that desperate or pathetic."

Lydia reached over and placed a hand on her friend's knee as her eyes sparkled. "Oh, gosh, Stiles. No, I don't think that. I just want you to be happy. All you ever do is work. You don't date and you aren't seeing anyone. Can't you just try? I read through the profiles and a couple of them seem very, um, diverse and eager."

At that suggestion, Stiles struggled to keep the wide grin from bursting across his face at the memory of what he had done just that morning. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops but he knew that it was impossible. Unfortunately, Stiles Stilinski had never been a good poker player and Lydia immediately picked up on the vibe.

"Oh, my, God! You are, aren't you? You're seeing someone! Who? What? Where? When? Was it one of my internet guys? Did you hook up with one of them? I want details, buddy, and I want them OW!"

Stiles did the backstroke through a pool of quandary. He couldn't be honest but he had never been able to hide things from Sherlock Martin, the great detective. As he considered what was safe info and what wasn't, which was most of it, he settled on a compromise. He took a deep breath and he averted his eyes. "There really isn't anything to tell. He was NOT someone from the ad you placed. I sort of had a date with a guy named Trevor down at the spaghetti shop near my building." Truth. "He asked me to pick him up when he got off work." More truth. "Long story short, he is a nice guy and, no, we didn't have sex but I gotta say, I just had the best kiss of my life." He fragmented the truth, twisted and bitch-slapped it and wedged it into a story that required a shoehorn to fit.

But it worked. Apparently, in a pinch, Stiles was a better liar than he had thought because Lydia totally bought it. She lit up like the Northern Lights as she pierced the air with a high-pitched squeal while clapping her hands together in a move that forced Stiles to admit to himself that yes, her tits did still have a lot of bounce left in them.

"Oh, Stiles, that's great!! I'm so excited for you!! You are just around the corner from an exciting night of hound humping and intercruraling!"

Stiles face scrunched up and he scratched his head. "Inter..whating?"

Lydia waved her hand dismissively. She could school him on all the things he should be doing as a gay man later. For now, she was just delighted to know that he was dating and not spending all of his time with those filthy, disgusting vampires and werewolves.

For the next fifteen minutes Stiles side-stepped and tap-danced around the subject, saying that here was really nothing more to say. He didn't know when he would see Trevor again and he wasn't sure it would lead to anything lasting or permanent. For Lydia, it was appeasing enough. In exchange, she apologized and promised that she would take down the profile and cancel his name on the dating service. His give, in response to her take, was to agree to reading over some of the names and hobbies of the men who had already e-mailed him although he knew in his heart that none of them could compare to a certain dark werewolf.

"So you promise to remove the ad today?"

Lydia put on her best puppy face. "I could, but honey it's already paid for, for the month. Why not just let it run its course and maybe...."

"Lydia!"

"Yeah." She threw her hands up in surrender. "Okay. Fine, Mr. Grouchypants. Consider it gone."

Stiles jumped up to kiss her on the top of the head. Her thick, soft hair brushed across his lips and he took a moment with his face against her head. Like a lion's mane, it was warm, fluffy and felt like silk against his cheeks. Lydia smelled like lavender and it all combined to reminded him of everything he loved about her. He couldn't feel closer to her if she were his sister and it was impossible to stay angry. Finally, he moved away. "I gotta go. Things to do. Business to transact. I'll call you later."

Stiles trotted towards the French doors that led into the house. When he stepped inside the living room, he stopped, turned around and pointed his finger in her direction as he wore his most stern, serious expression. "Take it down NOW! When I get home I will be checking."

In response, Lydia stuck out her tongue and flipped him the finger before lying back down on her stomach. Stiles wasn't worried. He knew she would comply. Still, he would log on at home and search for himself and the smiling crotch-shot that just screamed, 'I am a gay man, come and ride me.' Stiles shuddered.

"Is everything all right Mr. Stiles?"

Stiles leaned over and gave the hesitant housekeeper a peck on the cheek. "Everything is great, Mable. Lydia was just being her usual pain in the ass self, but I'm sure she sees the error of her ways and now is on the straight and narrow."

Mable snorted at the dubious and facetious remark. She knew firsthand that Miss Lydia never considered herself to be in the wrong. In response, she swatted at the jokester as he dodged out of the way and laughingly darted down the steps and walkway to disappear into his jeep and zip off.

On the patio, Lydia had been listening intently. When she was certain Stiles had gone, she scrambled to her feet, grabbed up her silk kimono and flung it on as she rushed towards her father's study. There, she fired up the computer and tapped her long, perfectly manicured nails on his desktop as she waited impatiently.

She would log on and take down that silly profile but that could wait. Right now she had other concerns. Bigger fish that were flopping about in her skillet, begging to be fried.

When Windows was up and running, she typed in the web address of the mapping site she referred and then zeroed in on Stiles neighborhood. She decided on a zone of approximately two miles in circumference of his apartment. She then requested a list of all the Italian, pizza and spaghetti restaurants in that area that offered take-out service. In less than three seconds, several little red stars lit up on the map.

"Seven? There are seven in that small neighborhood? Shit, how many Guidos live in this shitty area?" With a shake of her head, she grabbed a pen and paper from the top drawer and she jotted down the names. From there, she looked each one up individually to acquire the phone numbers and addresses. When her list was complete, she picked up the phone.

"Hello. Pizza Heaven. Our special this week is boneless wings. How may I help you?"

"Hi. Wings, huh? Sounds great but I'm just calling to speak to Trevor. Is he there?"

"Trevor? Ain't no Trevor here, lady."

"Oh, sure. My mistake. Sorry."

And so the same script went time after time, as she worked her way through the list of establishments who specialized in everything and anything that could be soaked in sauce. It was tedious and it was frustrating as each employee she spoke to seemed even more addle brained than the last. She was on the verge of pulling handfuls of hair out when she dialed the second to the last name on the roster.

"Spaghetti Junction. Go ahead with your order."

"Hi. Do you have someone working there by the name of Trevor?"

"Yeah why? What did the little prick do this time? Whatever it was, we apologize and we would like to offer you a free bucket of our best pasta with double bread...."

"Oh, no. Nothing like that. So he does work there?"

"Yeaaaah, but he doesn't come on duty for another hour. Is there anything I can...."

"GREAT! Thanks."

Lydia hung up the phone and she drew a big circle around the name and address on her list. She was ecstatic as she leapt up from her chair and rushed up the stairs to shower and dress. At this point she had no clue as to what she was going to say to Paul, but she just had to meet him and see what it was that Stiles found so enticing. She wanted to gaze into Trevor's face and imagine the passionate kiss that her friend had shared with this man.

It was titillating. It created erotic, sexual mental images and Lydia decided that her shower may just take a bit longer than usual.


	10. Chapter 10

Bobby clawed his way to consciousness through a sea of molasses. "Oooo. Where am I? Who am I? What am I?"

"My apartment. Bobby Finstock and a fucking moron." Derek growled unsympathetically.

Bobby's eyes popped open and his head snapped around in the direction of the sarcastic voice. His arm flopped around limply and he vaguely noticed that he was lying on a very comfortable, high quality sofa that sported one of the lumbar-back supports that he had always dreamed of owning.

"Derek? Derek old buddy. Is that you? " He squinted at the wolf. "What happened?"

Derek was standing barefoot in the kitchen area. After the embarrassing spectacle at the cafe, he had tossed the limp and over-weight vampire over his shoulder and brought him back here to prevent Bobby from saying something awkward and possibly incriminating as he came to. Which had taken the good part of an hour.

Derek puckered his lips and blew into his steamy mug of coffee while his spoon clink-clinked as he stirred the beverage slowly. At the first signs of his guest's recovery, Derek wandered back into the living room area of his apartment where he gracefully lowered himself into his chair as he sipped his drink.

While Bobby flopped like a fish and moaned, Derek rolled his eyes and sighed with disgust. "What happened was that you fainted like a virginal maiden in a cheap, tawdry romance novel. What the fuck, Finstock? Did you leave your balls at home on the bedside stand this morning?"

Bobby rubbed his hand over his forehead as he swung his legs over the side and sat up. The insult to his manhood sailed high over his head as he tried to recall what had happed but things were still a bit fuzzy. "I fainted? Gosh, I don't think I ever did that before. I remember that we were sitting at the Vampster having a pleasant tête-à-tête. when..... when you said....."

Derek crossed his feet at the ankles and he took another casual sip as he waited for the lights to come on in Finstocktown. It didn't take long when, at the moment of illumination and recollection Bobby squeaked, leapt to his feet as an expression of sheer terror crossed his face and his finger punched the air wildly.

"You heretic! It is blasphemy!! It is an unheard of crime against nature and the law! I shall report you immediately! I shall have no part in this atrocity that you have......"

Derek calmly continued to drink his coffee while his visitor ranted and raved. When he felt that the short stubby Finstock had gone on long enough to make his loyalties obvious, Derek set his half empty cup on the coffee table. "We are in my private residence, Bobby. There are no cameras or bugs anywhere. It is just you and me."

Immediately, Bobby settled down and his ample ass returned to the couch where he snatched up Derek's mug and he drained it in one big gulp and grimaced "Ugh, coffee!". He then swiped his sleeve across his mouth and grinned. "Just us? You sure? Hey, it don't matter. You're my pal, Derek. Fuck them authorities. You know I'm on your side. Whatever you say to Bobby Finstock stays with Bobby Finstock."

Derek shook his head and snorted. Despite himself, he really liked Finstock, he just couldn't figure out why. With his hands on his knees, Derek hoisted himself out of his chair. He waved the empty mug in Bobby's direction and Finstock responded to the unspoken offer with a big grin and an eager nod of his head. As Derek headed to the kitchen for a baggie of O neg (Derek was nothing if not an attentive host), Bobby took the time to check out his surroundings.

Beginning in the living room, Bobby wandered from one area of the space to another as his hands ghosted over the expensive fabrics on the furniture and estimated the weight of the drapes that hung at the huge windows. He studied the artwork on the walls and he peered into the display stands that held elegant crystal and photos of dead family members. His evaluation was culminated in a long low whistle.

"Woo wee, pal. This is a hell of a place you got here. You live here all by yourself?"

Derek poured two cups one full of the rich red liquid and the other thick, black coffee and he set them in the microwave. He pushed the numbered buttons and waited as the appliance whirred to life. "Yep. All by myself."

Bobby felt a fissure of excitement skitter up his spine like a mouse. He had never known a rich person. Not dead or even alive. There had to be some way that this would benefit Bobby's favorite charity. The Foundation for the Advancement of Bobby Finstock.

On the outside, his demeanor remained calmly indifferent. "Yeah, I got a nice place too but it ain't nearly as sharp as this. Course, there is that little situation of my overdue rent. Times are hard for a vamp like me trying to get by on them skimpy government hand-outs. Now if I had me a roommate and we lived together in a bigger place...."

"Here you are." Derek pointedly ignored the subject of discussion as he joined his guest in the den and he handed Finstock a warm cup of blood. Derek patiently sipped from his own coffee while he waited for Bobby to bring up the real matter of concern. The obvious elephant in the room. After a ccouple gulps, he did.

"So, Derek. I'm still a bit foggy about what happened just before I passed out but I seem to recall you saying something about..."

"I kissed Stiles Stilinski. And he kissed me back."

Bobby clutched his blood mug to prevent even one drop from being spilled and he plopped down on the chair , presumably before he fell over. As Bobby's addled brain tried to absorb the outrageous concept, he shook his head and his eyes diverted in the direction of the papers stacked on the desk where he spotted the full-colored picture of a smiling, nearly naked man who was oddly familiar.

"AAHHH!!! That's.... That's Mr. Stilinski! Don't deny it! I can tell by .... Well I can just tell!"

Derek smirked. "Yep, that's my boy. Give me that picture himself, he did. Said he wanted me to have it for the evenings when me and my right hand had a little free time."

Bobby scowled as the string of lies dripped from Derek's lips like warm honey. When it became clear that no response was to be forthcoming, Derek sat down on the side chair that Stiles used when he worked with Derek and he leaned forward. He rested his forearms on his thighs and he clasped his hands. It was suddenly very important to him that Bobby understand how he felt. Maybe not Bobby per se but Derek just wanted someone to fathom the depths of this new-found passion.

"Come on, Bobby. You aren't a new vamp. You were around in the before time and yes, I know talking about that is forbidden but there is no one here but us. Please. Talk to me. Tell me you remember how it feels to touch a human. To hold them in your arms and kiss their warm lips. You remember lying with their hot, eager bodies and plunging your cock and fangs into them as they squirm and wriggle beneath you. Jesus, Bobby, don't you miss that?"

After a moment's hesitation, Bobby's head nodded slightly and when he spoke, his voice had lost a good portion of the cartoony tone it usually carried. His eyes took on a faraway gaze and the corners of his lips tipped up in a small, sad smile. "Okay, yeah. I remember. I was twenty years turned when the leaders outed us. I had been happily traveling through the South sucking and fucking my way from the Bayou to the Gulf Coast and back. I had my way with more eager housewives on the sandy beaches than I could count. Didn't even have to kill them. I sucked their necks and they sucked my cock. It was the perfect arrangement. It was a good life. So to speak. No strings. No commitments. No-one got hurt. Yep. Bobby Finstock was one happy-ass vampire."

Derek was delighted by the unexpected honesty. It was the first time in five years that he had heard a vampire actually say what he knew they were all thinking. It was more than Derek could have hoped for and it filled him with a warm feeling of connection and comradery with this homely little man.

Derek had been wrong. Bobby Finstock was very much in possession of his man-balls.

Derek gripped Bobby's knees as he spoke. "Exactly! And why shouldn't that be? Don't we have rights? Protected by the Constitution and the Bill of Rights. Why did our rights automatically become null and void when we came out? The United States Declaration of Independence states that we all have the inalienable right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Just because you have forfeited the life part and my existence is questionable why does that mean that they can snatch the liberty and happiness from us too?"

Bobby listened to Derek's little speech and he had to admit that he struggled to find fault with the logic. Still, he wasn't entirely certain what direction this conversation was taking. "Yeah, I suppose it's true but I doubt that the forefathers were taking into account the conditions of an undead and werewolf population when they were putting pen to paper."

Derek eagerly nodded his agreement. "True. True but that is why amendments are made to the constitution. So that as society changes and evolves, the intent, integrity and spirit of the document can be maintained. I think it is time that we stand up and be counted. Just like the uprisings of the Civil Rights movement in the sixties, we need to take a stand. The fucking Elders went about it all wrong when they threatened to take over the world. We don't want to run anything. We just want our equal rights as citizens."

Comprehension soaked in slowly as what Derek was proposing became clear. Visions of stormtroopers with water hoses spraying holy and wolfs bane laced water into a screaming crowd of fanged fiends danced in his brain as Bobby Finstock blinked and leaned back hoping to put some  
space between himself and this anarchist. What Derek was suggesting was outrageous. It was impossible and frankly, Bobby Finstock was not ready to be dusted. Besides, he had Pinky and their relationship to consider.

"Whoa there. Look, Derek, don't get me wrong, I see what you are saying but the hunters in the IVWRC have an iron grip on the world wide vampire and werewolf communities. You can't beat them. They are just too powerful."

Derek again nodded and although they were all alone, his voice dropped to a quiet, conspiratorial tone. "It's true. They are strong but if we stood together we could be stronger."

Bobby's fearful eyes darted all around hoping that Derek's 'we' spoke of an army he had hidden somewhere around his apartment. "We? As in you and me? Damn, look at the time. I gotta go, Derek but hey, good luck with that overthrowing the world thing. Keep in touch and let me know how it goes." As Bobby tried to slip away, Derek grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back into his seat.

"Sit down, you idiot. No, not you and me. See the thing is, when Stiles started teaching me the computer, I noticed all of the vampire-werewolf specific sites. Sites that humans have no interest in. Porn, dating, general government information, shopping, etc. They reach millions of vamps and wolves all over the world. If someone were to slip certain innocuous code words into these sites, on the surface they would seem innocent enough and if pinpointed, nothing could be proven but in time, they could be used to organize the greatest uprising the world has ever seen."

Bobby could all but feel his dead heart pounding in fear at what Derek was proposing. Then, another thought crept in. It was one that he found offensive and even more ugly that the concept of a vampire-werewolf coup. "Is that what you are doing with Mr. Stilinski? Are you just using him? Cause if you are, I think that's pretty shitty. Stiles is a good human and if you get him killed just so........"

"NO!" Derek jumped to his feet. His face flushed red with anger and he loomed intimidatingly over his visitor. Just the insinuation of an accusation in this vein started Derek's blood boiling.

"Stiles doesn't know anything about this and I have no intention of telling him. Business is business and my feelings for him are personal. Don't you EVER accuse me of...."

Bobby threw his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. My bad. We're cool. Say, why don't you get us a refill and I guess it wouldn't hurt none to just talk about this idea of yours."

 

Stiles Stilinski was in an odd state of mental flux, buzzing somewhere between exhausted and exhilarated. His afternoon had been spent in a whirlwind as he dashed from one side of town and back again endeavoring to fulfill all of the business obligations that were penciled on his calendar. He would like to have blamed the fact that he was tossed off schedule on the impromptu meeting with Lydia, but he knew that would be a lie.

The fact was, he was completely off kilter by the kiss that still tingled on his lips and burned in his mind. It caused him to turn left when he should have gone right and it tricked his eyes into seeing red when the traffic light was a perfectly good shade of green. Apparently his foolish lips had cut a deal with his treacherous mind to fuck with his equilibrium.

A werewolf. Stiles Stilinski had kissed a werewolf! In all of his years of working with them and being in close proximity to them, he had never once considered anything so outrageous and unconscionable. Not out of a fear of the law, although Stiles did not even have a jaywalking citation against his good name. No, he had just never considered the fanged and lunar challenged in terms of attractive, appealing or sexy-as-fuck.

But now, as his day wound down and he returned to the solitude of his own empty apartment, he had to admit to himself that he hadn't been able to concentrate on anything else since it had happened. He had been kissed! He had been taken and jerked into the powerful arms of a man who could have snapped his neck without breaking a sweat.

A violent shudder wracked Stiles body as he contemplated the sheer power and magnitude of the man and the kiss. Stiles had never felt more like a Nelly Bottom than he did right now, and it cemented his lifelong belief that we are all born to be just what we are supposed to be. It also tickled the question of how werewolves and vampires fitted into the natural world of correct selection. It was a philosophical question that, up to now, Stiles had dismissed as unimportant.

"Well, hell." Stiles stood in the small kitchen of his apartment and he scratched his head. All of the deep contemplation was giving him a headache as the rest of his body weighed in. His empty stomach was growling that he hadn't eaten since the light lunch at Derek's place earlier, and Buddy, his aggravating single-minded cock was still harping on the kiss. So in short, all roads led back to thinking about Derek.

"Stop it, Stiles. You are allowing your professional boxers to slip down around your ankles and show your ass. Pull them up! Get a grip on yourself!! You're hungry. Yeah, that's it. You are famished and it is giving you a feeling of being lightheaded that you are erroneously interpreting as being horny as fuck for a domineering, dark, green-eyed werewolf. Yeah, that's it. Ha ha. Simple as fuck. As soon as I am stuffed, the thoughts of being spanked and ridden like Trigger will simply fade away. So, what am I hungry for?"

Stiles marched towards his refrigerator and he jerked open the door. He was determined to get his mind and body back under his own control. Immediately, his eyes lit up. "Ooo. Hot dogs. Perfect!"

Later, as he sat in front of the television, he set his dinner plate on his lap. He turned on the evening news and he picked up his first wiener. His tongue darted out to catch a small drop of ketchup as it slipped from the end of the bun while the bimbo on the screen pointed towards a cold front that threatened to bring rain to the area.

Stiles thumb and forefinger circled his hotdog as his mouth opened wide. Despite his hunger, he was in no hurry to eat. Before taking that first big bite, he pursed his lips and wrapped them around the bit of meat that protruded from the bun. He closed his eyes and he moaned as the warm tube of meat slid in and out. In and out. When he suddenly realized what he was doing and how silly he must look, Stiles giggled and shoved the sandwich in his mouth just as the sports guy was reading the day's ball scores.

Later, with his meal finished and the local news having slid into the reruns of a sitcom about two hapless hetero-men and a kid, Stiles was back to wandering and pacing around his empty apartment. By eight P.M. he was beginning to recognize a new compulsion. He continually picked up his cell phone and flipped it open to assure himself that he hadn't missed any calls.

Was he expecting a call? No. Not that he could recall. He had already deleted the ten messages from Lydia. He was still slightly perturbed at her for the whole crotch-shot debacle and not interested in hearing about her emotional struggles as she tried to decide between red nail polish and coral.

Finally, with his phone in his hand, he returned to the sofa and he flopped down as TV Charlie led another skinny woman upstairs while the canned laughter of an invisible audience roared at his decadent behavior. Stiles aimed the remote and he muted the screen.

Then he stared at his phone. Should he? What would he say? Should he even mention the kiss or pretend he had forgotten all about it and dismissed it as unimportant? Why was he even thinking about calling? Or kissing. Before he could thoroughly beat himself up with insecurities and indecision, Stiles quickly scanned down through his list of contacts and he tapped the 'send' button. The second the phone started to ring, a flurry of nervous squiggles slammed into his gut and threatened to make him hang up.

"Hello?"

Stiles scowled. That wasn't Derek's voice. Had he misdialed? Wait a minute. He knew that fucking voice. "Bobby? Bobby Finstock?"

"Yep. It's me. Is this Stiles?"

"Ah, yeah. Sorry. I think I got a wrong number. I meant to call...."

"Derek?"

"What?"

"Were you calling Derek?"

"Um, well, yeah. What the fu...."

"Oh, me and Derek are old buddies. I'm just here for a little blood and some brewskies. He was in the kitchen so I answered.....wait a minute. Here he is."

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, Derek? You and Bobby Finstock are buddies?"

Derek chuckled warmly. "It's a long story but actually he was just leaving. He has a date with Pinky this evening and he is already running late. Bye, Finstock. See you tomorrow."

Stiles heard the door close in the distance, indicating that Derek was now alone. "You do know that Pinky is a web-porn star don't you? I mean she and Bobby aren't really...."

Derek laughed. "Yeah I know, but it makes Bobby happy so what's the harm?"

Stiles scooted around on the sofa to get comfortable. He grinned and clutched a round, red pillow against his chest as the warm fuzzies caused his toes to curl and his face to nearly split from the huge sappy smile. "Yeah, happiness is hard to come by and if Bobby has it then why snatch it out from under? I guess it just surprises me that you would feel that way. I never thought of werewolves as compassionate."

Derek propped his bare feet up on his glass-top coffee table. His apartment was dim and dark. As was his habit, he had not bothered to turn on the various lights and lamps when the sun had set since his werewolf's vision was sharper than a cat's eye. Now the lack of illumination seemed to add to the ambiance as he lounged, half-naked, while his boy spoke softly into his ear.

"You know, Stiles, every werewolf is an individual and we are not all that different from you. The wolf in us just enhances us. But something tells me that you didn't call to talk about the variations of the colorful spectrum of werewolves, did you? Why did you call? What did you really want to talk about?"

Stiles breath came in shallow, quick pants as he listened to the soft, suggestive tone in the werewolf's voice. It coated him. It reached through the phone and it stroked him. It caused Stiles fingers to tighten around the small phone that was plastered to his ear. It raised the fine hairs on the back of his neck.

"I...I don't know what.... I just called to see if you were practicing.... I only...."

"Is that right? You called to check on me? Are you sure you didn't call to tell me you had reported my outrageous behavior to the authorities and at this very minute they are about to kick down my door and...."

"No. I swear! I wouldn't do that. I would never tell on you."

Derek's dark, low chuckle told Stiles that the wolf was only fucking with him and that he didn't believe for a minute that the human would have violated their confidentiality.

"Tut, tut, Stiles. I think you called because you have been thinking about this morning. I think you liked what I did to you and you want me to do it again. Is that it, Stiles? Did you like it?"

Stiles blinked. When he opened his mouth to answer, his brain sizzled and his throat constricted allowing only a high-pitched "Yes?" to escape. It was all the confirmation and permission the wolf needed and the call took on a more personal and intimate flavor as Derek settled in for a nice long conversation that began with, "I liked it too."

From there, it swerved and wound around several subjects that encompassed everything from television to books and the state of the public transit system. Stiles discovered that Derek had a dry, wicked sense of humor and Derek was thrilled to realize that Stiles was extremely knowledgeable on old movies of the seventies and eighties.

With each man cocooned in the privacy and safety of their own homes, they snuggled in and talked for hours. When Derek heard Stiles yawn, he knew it was time to let his human get some sleep. "It's late, Stiles and you have to work tomorrow. Hang up and go to bed."

Although he had started this conversation sitting up and hugging the throw pillow, Stiles was now stretched out on his couch with the pillow beneath his head. His eyes were heavy yet he was loathe to disconnect. "Wait. I'm not that...." *yawn*

Derek laughed at his boy's opposition, and the fact that his human was reluctant to hang up gave Derek a feeling of importance and hope that he hadn't known in decades. "I'll tell you what. For a few more minutes, I'll talk and you just listen. When I am done, you have to promise to hang up. greed?"

Stiles frowned at the odd statement but if it meant listening to the lilt and sparkle of Derek's voice for a little longer, he was agreeable. "Okay, I promise."

Derek grinned and he scooted around in the dark on his over-stuffed sofa. He switched the cell phone to his other ear and his voice dropped an octave as he spoke. "Pull down your pants for me, Stiles, and kick them off."

A cold frisson of fear and excitement slammed into Stiles as he realized what Derek wanted him to do, yet he gave no thought to refusal or even hesitation. Still lying on his back, he clamped his phone against his ear with his shoulder and both free hands jerked the sleep pants off his raised hips. Despite his compliance, Stiles felt some sort of protest was warranted. "No. We can't. It isn't right."

Derek's answer was a low, thoughtful, "Hmmm." that sounded more like a growl than a consideration. "You are probably right. It is dirty, wrong and nasty. But, you were going to do the deed anyway, weren't you? Doesn't it feel good?"

Stiles groaned as the assessment only made his dick harder. He was already stroking himself with one hand as he clutched the phone tightly against his ear for fear of missing even one word. "Are you...? Are your pants.... Is your dick....?"

Derek's voice was now dreamy and soft with unquestioning passion and want. "Yeah, It's hard and it feels so good. I wish.... I wish..."

"What?" Stiles hand was working his cock in a hard, fast and determined manner yet he was fully aware that it was Derek's voice urging him on and in an effort to both keep the vampire talking and a genuine curiosity as to what he wished, Stiles closed his eyes and asked, "What, Derek. What do you wish?"

The answer was breathless and wanton. "I wish the hand on my cock was warm and human. I wish the man that was jacking me off was you."

In that instant, Stiles imagined that the fingers wrapped around the throbbing shaft of his cock were hot. His usually pitiful imagination now flared to life as he told himself that his dick was being pulled and squeezed by five hot digits while five more played with his balls and probed at his anus. It was startlingly erotic and sinfully amazing.

It was also successful. With a grunt, Stiles back arched, his hips humped upwards and Buddy spewed forth copious amounts of thick, pearly semen that splattered and pooled on his stomach. His vision went white and his ears buzzed as his cock pulsed again and again in his hand. Finally, as his release slowed and stopped, he slumped into a boneless puddle of happy as he remembered the phone that had fallen next to his head. With a sappy grin, he picked it back up.

"Derek? You still there?"

"Damn. I think the head of my dick blew off but, yeah, I'm here." The happy, relaxed tone in the disembodied voice told Stiles that he hadn't ridden the path to cumville all by himself, and it gave him a surprising feeling of intimacy with the brunette that Stiles hadn't felt in a long time.

"Me too. Fuck. Now, I'm beat. In more ways than one." Stiles chuckled and yawned. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

Derek was relaxed and spent but he was not as innocent or naive as Stiles. Derek realized the gravity of what they were doing and he needed to have a heart to heart with his boy before this went any further.

"Why don't you come over to my place tomorrow afternoon, yeah? We need to talk."

Stiles nodded, assuming Derek would see the movement of his head. He then shut his phone and fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hi, welcome to Spaghetti Junction. Tonight's special is the spicy meatball sub."

Lydia stood in front of the long counter and stared at the young man who had just delivered he deadpanned, chilly welcome. He wore a garish orange vest and a cheap plastic visor with the Spaghetti Junction food bucket dancing on the brim. He had his arms crossed over his chest and he huffed repeatedly in a disgusted manner that said he hated his job, but the nearby hospital wasn't hiring new brain surgeons this week so he was stuck.

The restaurant itself was dingy and smelled of garlic and cat pee. A bit of a conundrum considering there was no cat in residence. The five booths that ran along the side of the room were empty and three of them were stacked with trash, paper plates and unfinished pasta dishes. They were now a hefty meal for the flies that buzzed about.

The floor was linoleum, cracked and peeling black and white squares. It was uninspiring and drab. On the upside, it matched the decor of the walls perfectly. If trailer trash had been a style, Spaghetti Junction would have been hailed as ultra-modern.

But all of that wasn't what surprised Lydia the most. The one thing that caught her eye and held her attention was the name tag on the disgruntled employee. It was a small rectangular piece of plastic that read "Trevor."

Lydia scowled as she stared at his face, and her thought process tried to work out the question that was foremost on her mind. This was "electric kiss Trevor"? Those thin lips were the ones that moved the earth for her bestest gay friend? Was there possibly a scale of attractiveness for gay men which carried a variant that regular, straight women could not accept? Did Trevor perhaps have a huge dick that canceled out the repulsiveness of his apparent bad attitude?

"Hey. Lady. You going to order something or just stand there? I got other customers waiting."

Lydia jumped at the admonishment and glanced around. Other than the homeless guy in the corner nursing a cup of coffee and drinking from a brown paper bag, the other impatient customers must have been invisible. Still she didn't want to get on Trevor's bad side. Not until she asked a few questions.

"Oh. Sorry. Everything just looks so good on the menu board that I can't decide. Hmm. Hey, I know. A friend of mine comes in here a lot, maybe I should order what he likes."

Trevor appeared to have forgotten she was there as he dug his pinky finger in his ear for a good scratch followed by the studious inspection of the yellow wax under his nail. "Oh, yeah, so who's your friend and what does he order?"

Lydia averted her eyes to avoid watching his squicky behavior while keeping the tone in her voice light and cheery. "My friend is Stiles Stilinski. Slender guy, pale complexion, dark hair and dreamy eyes. He lives just a couple blocks down the street. Maybe you know him?"

At the announcement of Stiles name, Trevor's attention snapped to as his thumbnail flipped the earwax from his fingertip to where it landed on the counter. Lydia took a step back from the foul specimen as Trevor's demeanor changed and brightened.

"Stiles? You're a friend of Stiles? Yeah, I know him. He comes in here a lot for the bucket of rigatoni and the extra sauce."

Lydia decided that she had spent as much time in Spaghetti Junction as she cared to and it was time to cut to the chase. Coyly, she crossed her arms, waggled her eyebrows and she winked.

"Is that all he comes in here for? Are you sure he doesn't have a particular liking for the... MEAT...BALLS?"

This time it was Trevor's turn to step away and eye her up suspiciously. Clearly this skinny little red head had an agenda and whatever it was, it wasn't something that came with breadsticks.

"Yeah, sometimes he likes meatballs but I get the feeling that, that isn't what you're asking me, so if you got some kind of issue with me, spit it out lady."

Lydia couldn't contain her excitement any longer as she bounced as close to the counter without actual physical contact as possible. She clutched her designer purse to her chest and she leaned forward, whispering loudly, "I know all about you and Stiles. He told me everything!"

The scrunched-up, confused expression remained firmly in place on Trevor's mug as he tried to interpret her inference. "He told you everything? As in...what exactly?"

Lydia swayed back and forth as her fingertip traced the outline of the ridges on the top of the cash register. "Well, he told me that you two had a date but something came up and you didn't go. He said he was really disappointed. He also said that he is into you big time. Oh, and I know all about the...." Lydia turned her head in both directions to make sure they were not being eavesdropped upon by some intrusive, hungry customer who had slipped in the door unseen. The homeless guy in the corner took a swallow from his paper bag and belched.

When she was certain that their confidentiality was not being breached, she finished her sentence in a harsh whisper that was anything but quiet. "...KISS!"

Trevor scratched his head, which left his plastic visor cocked at an odd angle. A kiss? There was a kiss? Trevor knew that was a lie and not just something he had forgotten, because Trevor Evans does not kiss. He gropes and sucks and he bends over for a rousing fuck but he does not engage in the foreplay of kisses or cuddles. Still, that small item of inaccuracy could easily be discarded as the sort of thing a gay guy would tell his straight friend. The important part was that Stiles was really into him which was all Trevor wanted anyway.

He wanted Stiles into him. Deep into him. Pounding and screaming into him.

"That right? Stiles told you that he was into me? Those were his EXACT words?"

Lydia was, by now, giggling and bouncing on the balls of her feet. All pretense of a bogus food order was forgotten and she was in full conspiratorial mode with her newest pseudo-gal pal. To be honest, she couldn't remember what Stiles exact words were but that was a moot point. What mattered was the spirit of the conversation and that was that Stiles Stilinski was smitten with Trevor, the spaghetti man.

It wouldn't have been Lydia's choice for her friend, but Stiles had to be allowed to make some decisions for himself and she needed to show her support for that choice. "Um, yeah, sure. His words. So, what about you? Are you into him too?"

Trevor hesitated. He was not comfortable in sharing his fuck stories with strangers and definitely not with annoying straight women, although he knew that a lot of gay men did. For now, until he could get what he wanted, he would play along.

"Gee yeah. I think Stiles is keen. He caught my eye every time he came in here to pick up an order. I finally got up enough nerve to ask him out on a date but, like he said, I had to work late and we couldn't go. So, let me ask you something. If I was to call Stiles, do you think he would give me another chance? I mean, he wasn't pissed off about me canceling?"

Lydia eagerly jumped at the chance to clear up any confusion and correct any misconceptions that may stand in the way to Stiles happiness. "No! Stiles is not mad. He totally understood. Stiles is all about the business. I'll bet he is just sitting home and waiting on you to call and set up another date."

Trevor's nuts tingled in his pants and his butt-hole flexed and winked at the prospect of another shot at the handsome Stiles Stilinski. If playing this bimbo like Sally Doughnut would ensure that anal encounter's occurrence, Trevor was willing to be Will to her Grace. "Gosh. Do you really think so? Wow, Stiles is really lucky to have a friend like you. Does he know you are here? What did you say your name was?"

Lydia was ecstatic at how well this was going. "I'm Lydia and actually he doesn't know I'm here, but I'll bet he'll have a great big thank you for me when he finds out. So, now we need to coordinate times and days that you are both off and can get together. EEEE! I made a pun. Both of you off together. I am just too funny!"

Trevor smirked as she whipped out her cell phone and punched up the calendar app. He wondered if she had any idea how the name that most closely fit her behavior was spelled, p.i.m.p. It was cool. He would let her do all the work and he would reap the benefit.

Who knew? Maybe this was the way Stiles worked. Maybe this was a kinky thing he liked to do. Maybe he and his little redheaded friend got off on her pimping him out. Maybe she watches. Trevor moaned quietly and his hand slid down to press against his burgeoning erection at the idea of this woman sitting in a chair flicking her pussy while Stiles slammed his cock into another man's tight little asshole.

"Got it!"

Trevor jumped at her pronouncement and he leaned against the waist-high counter to conceal the prominent bulge in the front of his work pants. It had been nearly two hours since the local bakery delivery man had fucked him in the back alley and he was horny as fuck. "Really? Great! When? Cause I'm ready now."

Lydia laughed at her new friend's enthusiasm. "Oh, you eager boy. Patience, honey. Okay, now according to my estimation, you finish work around ten, am I right?" When Trevor nodded, Lydia continued. "Good. Good. Well, I know that Stiles doesn't take any evening appointments on Wednesdays so I am going to pencil you in for ten thirty day after tomorrow. Does that work for you?"

Trevor was clearly disappointed. He wanted a fast fuck or two tonight and wasn't one for making long-term plans. Still, if the hump in the front of Stiles jeans was any hint as to the size of his dick, it might be worth the wait. "Yeah, I think Wednesday night would work for me."

Lydia's eyes lit up and she frantically thumbed the tiny keypad on her phone to enter the date in stone. Once typed in, it couldn't be ignored. Stiles would have to agree. Finally with a decisive snap of her head, she flipped her phone shut. "Done! Okay, so I will give you the address of his apartment and you be there at ten thirty on Wednesday night. I will make sure that he is home and you two should be free to fornicate or orally copulate to your hearts' delight. Now, it isn't necessary, but if you do want to bring a bottle of wine or something, Stiles favorite is the blackberry from Raven's Glenn."

Trevor's nose wrinkled up. Wine? He was thinking more along the lines of, as the fuckee, it was on him to supply the flex-cuffs and lube. As the fucker it was Stiles place to provide the rubbers. As crude as Trevor was, he did adhere to the unwritten etiquette of gay ass fucking.

"Blackberry? Um, yeah, sure. I'll keep that in mind. So, I'll be there. I can't wait. Oh, did you want to order something? I can slip you a couple of extra breadsticks or some of the sauce that hasn't been watered down."

Lydia considered buying a bucket of the disgusting slop just so that Trevor's feelings wouldn't be hurt, and then tossing it in the dumpster as she walked by the alley, but she knew that having to smell it even that long was more than her delicate stomach could manage. She smiled apologetically. "Gosh, sorry. I ate earlier. If I had known how yummy everything would look I would have waited. Maybe next time."

Luckily, her save was a couple who had been toking and smoking long enough to have bloodshot eyes and a case of the munchies that forced them out into the night and through the doors of Spaghetti Junction. With a dart to the side, Lydia waved her hand and rushed out as the two customers tried to decide between the linguini, the angel hair or both. 

 

Some mornings just speak for themselves. They don't need singing birds or bright sunny beams of light streaming through the warm window panes to awaken the human dreamer. The angry jangle of the alarm clock is silenced even before it has a chance to bitch slap the sleeper from his peaceful repose, and the feet that hit the floor have no sway or stumble as they trot, happy and alert, towards the shower.

It was Tuesday morning and Stiles Stilinski felt like a million bucks. His step was light and bouncy and the smile on his face threatened to, as his mother would warn, freeze that way. Buddy, his insatiable dick was cheerfully flopping between his legs and still smelled musky from his phoned-in orgasm of the night before. It promised to be a great day.

Unfortunately, the universe functions on a huge scale that cannot tip too far to the good without tottering back towards the bad in order to maintain an equilibrium. For Stiles, the bad came as the spray of hot water splashed him in the face and the terror and hard reality of what he was doing punched him in the gut. He was becoming involved with a werewolf!

And not just sexually. He was actually developing feelings for the hirsute and fanged which, before he had met Derek, Stiles would have sworn was impossible.

Deep in thought and self-examination, Stiles poured a blob of shampoo into his hand and he began working a rich, bubbly lather into his thick hair. Then, as he stood with his face tipped downward, the water flushed the soap down the drain as the questions spun around in a swirl of introspection.

After all the werewolves Stiles had worked with, why was Derek different? What was it about the domineering, handsome brunette that Stiles found so enticing and attractive? Surprisingly, it was more than the sexual component. Derek was simply the most fascinating person Stiles had ever met and their interests made them perfectly compatible.

Except that Derek was a werewolf. He was forbidden. Untouchable. If Stiles continued on this path, nothing good would be found at the end of the road. For Stiles, it would mean the loss of his business, his friends and his family. Essentially, it would be the end of his life as he knew it, but for Derek it would be much worse. It would see the dreaded IVWRC kicking in Derek's front door some night as he slept and dragging him away in the dark, never to be seen or heard from again. A quick hearing would be held in the basement of a government building somewhere where a list of accusations would be read. False witnesses would be called forth to testify and Derek's guilt or innocence would be the least important factor in the judge's decision. He would be tortured to gain a confession and either summarily executed or taken to a secret facility to be the subject of experimentation.

The very thought of it caused a choked sob to slip from Stiles lips. It was an image so horrifying that he gasped and pressed his palms against the tile walls, and he lowered his head as the hot water continued to rain down over him.

He couldn't allow that to happen. He had to be strong for the both of them. He had to break it off. And he had to do it today.

With a newfound resolve and determination, Stiles straightened his spine and he methodically completed the task of bathing before he stepped out and dried himself off. It was decided. He would phone Derek this very morning and inform the Alpha that all of their improprieties would cease. No more hanky-panky. Not that there really had been. So far their whole sexual experience was more along the lines of only hanky. They would never reach the panky part. More's the pity.

After drying, dressing and brushing his teeth, Stiles marched into the living room. His mind was made up and there was no room for sway or pause. As the human in this non relationship , it fell to him to be the adult, responsible one. Without hesitation, he flopped down on the couch and picked his cell phone up from the coffee table. He popped it open then...snapped it shut. "Damn."

Sitting there with his phone in hand reminded him of last night and the things he and Derek and done, as well as the words Derek had whispered and the delicious threats and promises he made. Buddy remembered too and he twitched inside Stiles jeans. The annoying little pecker-head never did know right from wrong.

The whole memory thing also seemed to indicate that they were too far along to simply call or text a Dear John, even if it was to a wolf. This sort of thing needed to be delivered and explained in person. Besides, Derek had paid good money and had the right to have his contract fulfilled. If, after their heart to heart talk, Derek did not want to continue the lessons platonically, then Stiles would be more than willing to refund his money.

That was it. Decision revised. Stiles would go over and meet with his client personally. It was strictly business. Oh, he may allow a bit of light banter as long as it applied to the technology they were dealing with at the moment, but there would be no personal or intimate subjects allowed in the conversation. Stiles was certain that once Derek gave it some thought, he would side with Stiles assessment of the situation and not only agree but gratefully comply.

Once in his jeep, Stiles zipped across town, running well over the speed limit. He told himself that he was only anxious to get there and get the ugly deed over with as quickly as possible. Just rip the Band-Aid off in one fell swoop and the pain will be fast as lightning. Done and done. It was the most compassionate way to handle the issue.

By the time he pulled into the small, secluded parking area in the rear of Derek's building, Stiles was well entrenched in an armor of martyrdom and steely resolve. He trooped up the steps, marched into the elevator and did not allow himself the joy of humming along to the piped-in tune of Muskrat Love. He then proceeded to Derek's door where he rapped sharply, clasped his hands behind his back, tapped his foot and waited.

Within seconds, the door flew open and there he stood. Tanned, firm, beautiful and again stark naked. Was all the nakedness a werewolf thing, or just Derek? Stiles hands fell to his sides and he wibbled. His bottom lip trembled and his head dropped as he made no attempt to hide his blatant ogling of the long, girthy, hooded man meat that hung like a Mexican show donkey.

"Well well. It's nice to see you too. Come in, Stiles."

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks." Reluctantly, Stiles tore his eyes off the prize long enough to slip in past the smirking wolf and shuffle towards the living room. After closing the door, Derek reached his arms high over his head and he enjoyed an arched, full-body stretch that was the perfect accompaniment to his deep yawn. "Oh, sorry. I just rolled out of bed and I guess I am still groggy. Slept like a log last night, I did. Must have been the result of a very gratifying wank. Works better than a sleeping pill don't you think?"

"Wha? I'm.... Sleepy? No. Yes? Wank?" Stiles spluttered.

Stiles continued to babble like an idiot while Derek glided around his kitchen. He put on a pot of coffee for his flustered guest and while it perked, he strolled back to where Stiles was still attempting to put more than two words together in a coherent sentence.

"Coffee will be done soon. Please, have a seat. " 

Despite himself, the normality of the situation gave Stiles the warm fuzzies. He grinned and knew without a doubt he could fart in front of Derek and the wolf would only laugh. That was amazing. That spoke volumes as to their relationship. It also made the speech he had prepared very difficult to deliver.

Difficult but not impossible.

Taking a deep breath and tearing his eyes off the fat snake that rested on the sofa between Derek's open thighs, Stiles nodded his head and he began. "The reason I came over here this morning is that I think we need to...."

"Oh, hold that thought, Stiles. I believe the coffee is done. Fancy a cup?"

Stiles blinked and he glanced over at the pot on the kitchen counter where he gained confirmation that yes, it was finished. "Oh, yes, thanks." He then waited patiently while Derek jumped up and hurried off to retrieve it. Stiles watched intently as the firm, muscular butt cheeks flexed and bounced. It was mesmerizing. It was hypnotic. It was nothing compared to the sight of him returning, cups in hand and dick flopping like a fish out of water.

After placing Stiles cup in front of him, Derek sat back down and he smiled. "All right then. So what was it you were saying?"

Stiles stared with a blank look on his face. Was he saying something? Derek seemed to be waiting for...oh yes. "Yes. Yes, what I came here to say. It's very important. So, here's the thing, Derek. What we are doing is highly irregular and...."

"Is your coffee all right? I know you like two sugars. I hope it isn't too strong. Oh, I picked up some blueberry bagels yesterday at the bakery. Would you like one?"

Stiles glanced at his cooling coffee and then towards the kitchen where there was indeed a small square box from the Bread-Head Bakery. They had the best cream sticks Stiles had ever wrapped his mouth around. "Bagel? You bought bagels? I actually did miss breakfast this morning."

Derek took Stiles statement as an acceptance of his offer and he scuttled off. In less than a minute he returned with a soft, doughy bagel and a side of cream cheese on the plate, which he placed next to Stiles coffee. Stiles grinned and snatched up the offering as he licked his lips in anticipation. As soon as he began slathering cream cheese on his sliced bagel, Derek again settled in.

It really was odd, Stiles thought, that when he first arrived, Derek's nudity appeared so shocking. However, now, as the wolf moved about the apartment with such dignity and grace, the fact that his dick and nuts were airing themselves seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.

Still, there was that six hundred pound gorilla in the room that just demanded attention. It was a shame really. They were having such a pleasant morning together. What with the chit chat, coffee and bagels it was the most companionable way to start the day that Stiles could imagine.

Finally, as he gazed at the relaxed, smiling werewolf sitting across from him, Stiles decided that to ruin the ambiance that Derek had gone to such effort to create would be inexcusably rude. Perhaps the break-off could wait till later. Maybe he could slip it in as they discussed the phone, as in "Don't sext me." Or maybe the computer with the subtle comment of "Don't Skype your dick." Yeah, Stiles nodded to himself. That would work just fine.

"So, Stiles. What did you plan on teaching me today?"

Stiles grinned. He felt much more relaxed now that the pressure was off.

"I don't know. What did you want to work on?"

Calmly, Derek set his cup down and he uncrossed his legs. "Well, since you asked, I believe that I would like to drag you into my bedroom and fuck you into the mattress, if that is all right with you."

For the second time in as many days, Derek was drenched as a mouthful of coffee was spit-sprayed  
onto his face.


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles was in a horrified quandary as he tried to consider what his response should be. Should be apologize for the caffeine shower, or should he take an outraged stance that said while a bit of phone tag was naughty, it was still a strictly one-man operation. What Derek was proposing was.... Stiles couldn't even allow himself to think the words.

"You wanna what?"

By now, Derek had retrieved a tea towel from the kitchen and he was dabbing the coffee from his nose and chest. Then his stomach and slowly, very slowly, even lower. Stiles was pretty sure none of the coffee had sprayed that low but who was he to question? He watched as the towel dusted across Derek's flat, bare stomach and as it did, the static electricity caused the fine hair trail to bristle and fluff.

Then the towel went even further south to the equator of love that was now standing high and proud. Stiles gulped. Holy fuck! If he thought it looked big soft, he was dumbfounded to see it poking northward as if it were planning an expedition to the moon.

It was humongous. It was gargantuan. Derek could have put a hat and coat on it and driven in the carpool lane with it. And the most frightening thing about it was the way it bounced and slapped against Derek's stomach as he swaggered closer and closer. When it was just inches away from where Buddy was frantically trying to beat his way out of the zippered confines of Stiles pants, Derek answered.

He placed his hands gently on Stiles arms and he petted up and down as he attempted to soothe the human's fear and trepidation's. "I said I want to fuck you Stiles. I want to lay you down in my bed and take all your clothes off. Then I want to touch every inch of your hot, wonderful body and feel you squirm in need and desire for me. I want to kiss you and taste you. Then when you are all relaxed and ready, I want to shove my cock deep into your ass and make you scream at the pleasure of it."

Stiles blinked rapidly as he stared into the cool, clear green eyes. He knew there were a million things wrong with this whole situation. Unfortunately, due to Buddy draining of his brain's blood supply, he could only prioritize enough to come up with one. "Lube? I think we are going to need a lot of lube for that fucking thing to fit in my tiny little...."

"Shhh," Derek whispered in Stiles ear while he nibbled at the warm, fleshy earlobe. "I have all the lube we will need. It will be all wet and slippery and it will slide in as snug as a bug in a wrinkly little rug."

Stiles giggled at the stubble tickling on his neck and the silly werewolf's words and for the life of him he couldn't find it illogical or fault the plan. "Okay."

Derek was delighted and relieved. That had gone so much better than he had feared. He was sure there would be arguments with sides served up and a lively debate that would waste valuable time. He had never imagined that Stiles would want him too and wouldn't require a lot of convincing. It was a revelation that bolstered the werewolf's self-confidence and fed his battered pride. What society had taken from him in the last years, one look in Stiles hungry, trusting brown eyes restored.

With their eyes locked and matching smiles, Derek took Stiles by the hand, and as the wolf walked backwards, he led his human out of the living room, down the hallway and into the second room on the left. When they stepped in, Stiles released the hand he held and he looked all around.

The room was elegant and understated. It was beige's and browns in coordinated textures and prints that seemed to defy the status of the room's resident. The only thing Stiles could see however, was the huge bed. It was high, wide and an odd combination of inviting and intimidating. Obviously it would require a bit of a hop up to climb in. Stiles stood at the side with his mouth hanging open.

"Stiles?" The voice was soft and came on a puff of warm, moist air from directly behind him. "You aren't changing your mind are you?"

The very thought of it startled him back to life and Stiles immediately kicked off his shoes, tore his shirt off over his head and as he unzipped his fly, he briefly chastised himself for not wearing better underwear. Within seconds, he stood before the wolf wearing nothing but a shy blush. "Am I okay?"

Derek was so touched by the human's insecurity and need for approval, that he stepped up and wrapped his arms around the young man. He pressed their bodies together and when he heard Stiles sigh happily, Derek kissed him on the side of the neck. "You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Come on. Lay down with me."

Derek turned Stiles so that his legs backed up against the side of the bed and he gave a slight push that caused Stiles to tumble back. Immediately, the boy rolled over on his hands and knees, crawled to the center of the bed and he flipped onto his back with his legs wide spread and his grin curled up in naughty anticipation. Derek laughed and leapt onto the bed where, in the blink of an eye, he was straddled over the human. He pressed his palms against Stiles chest and reveled in the feel of the silky skin, the heated flesh and the pounding of the thudding heart. It was almost too much for Derek to maintain his self-control and his fangs itched to drop.

For Stiles, the powerful hands and kneading fingers were a reminder that this man was a dangerous, deadly werewolf who could rip him apart in the snap of a finger. It was totally erotic. It caused his skin to crawl, his nuts to tingle and his stomach to clench in a combination of terror and hot sexual excitement and rampant anticipation.

Derek growled and Stiles could have sworn that the werewolf's eyes had a strange ruby glint to them that he hadn't noticed before. Possibly a trick of the light. In the bigger picture it didn't matter. The bigger picture being the cock that was now just inches from Stiles face. With Derek perched on Stiles hips, the wolf's long, thick dick was so gigantic and near that it reminded Stiles of The Beast. If The Beast had a huge cock. Which he probably did if the smile on Belle's face was any indication.

Stiles couldn't help but stare and when Derek lifted his hips slightly and pressed his fingers on his shaft to tip it forward, Stiles did what came naturally. He stuck out his tongue to lick it and taste it. When the human, hot, wet tongue came into contact with the velvety, heated shaft, both men moaned passionately. Immediately, Derek arched his back and cupped the back of Stiles head pulling his face forward so that the human could open up and get more and more of the thick cock between his lips.

Grateful for the assist, Stiles latched on and sucked as his own forgotten erection humped the air behind Derek's ass. The taste was glorious. It was man-meat but so much more. It was tangy and sweet. It was musky and fresh. It was a fleshy head that bumped the back of his throat and a velvety foreskin that moved over a rigid rod. It was the best cock Stiles had ever had in his mouth so he gripped Derek's thighs and he tried to bury his face in the werewolf's crotch.

For Derek, it was deprivation erased. It was an explosion of all the memories of pleasure, power and sex. It was humans who fed his need for sex and power. But this was better. This was more than just a hot, wet mouth sucking on his cock. This was Stiles and surprisingly, that was the most important part. When Derek opened his eyes and looked down at the floppy brown hair tangled in his fist and the head that moved back and forth as the slurping sounds filled the room, Derek's nut-sac began to tingle in a threatening, ready-to-cum feeling.

"Stop. Stop. Fuck. Don't suck any more."

Reluctantly, Derek pulled his dripping, glistening cock from Stiles pink puffy lips as he spoke to the boy's pout and confusion. "Jesus, what a good little cocksucker you are. I'm going to let you suck my dick every day. I'm going to let you gobble werewolf cum till you can't swallow any more."

The dark, dirty words caused a surge in sexual need that raced through Stiles and he strained his face toward the beautiful cock that bounced just out of his reach. "Yes, please. Please Derek." But Derek's response was an evil chuckle as he gripped his cock and slapped it against Stiles face before suddenly lifting his leg up and over as he removed himself to sit beside his human.

"Turn over. Get on your hands and knees. Do it. Now."

Stiles gasped. His eyes darted from the Alpha's cool green eyes to his oversized, intimidating dick, and as the realization of what Derek was about to do with it sunk in, Stiles butthole slammed shut in self defense. "Wait. Derek. I don't think.... It is so big. I can't...."

Derek placed a gentle hand on Stiles forearm and helped him up and onto his knees so that the two men knelt on the bed face-to-face. Derek then cupped Stiles cheeks in his hands and he leaned in, placing a soft, loving kiss on his boy's lips. It was a brief kiss. A kiss of reassurance and not one whose destination was passion and lust. When it ended, Derek's lips drifted and he planted little pecking kisses on his boy's ear and neck as he whispered, "I'll be gentle. It will feel so good you will scream in pleasure. I have lube and I will make sure it is wet and slick. "

Stiles hand wrapped around his own fat cock and he stroked himself lightly and slowly as he nodded his head. With a wicked grin on his face, Derek reached into the drawer of his nightstand and he retrieved two bottles. The dark blue bottle he laid on the bed beside him. The small brown one he held in his hand as he pulled out the stopper. After two shallow breaths, Stiles leaned in and gave two quick deep snorts. Immediately the aphrodisiac shocked his system and flooded him with a heightened need that pooled in his crotch. It slowed the world around him and he could feel his anal muscles relax as a grin spread across his lips.

Derek nudged and coaxed his boy onto his hands and knees. Stiles chuckled as though it were the funniest thing ever and gave no resistance. The luxurious comforter that had cushioned his back now felt plush and fluffy beneath his palms. He widened his legs and he dropped his head to look at a very happy Buddy that was harder than he could ever remember being. The room swam around him and Stiles felt like he was floating on a cloud of erotic pleasure.

"So beautiful." Derek sat back on his heels as he examined the sight before him. He cupped the warm, wrinkled nut-sac that swayed between Stiles legs and he gripped the pale, round ass-cheeks. Running his thumbs down Stiles crack, Derek pulled his boy open and he snuffled at the musky, masculine scent.

"Fuck yes." Stiles pushed back offering himself up for inspection and consumption hoping that the wolf would return his oral favor, but Derek had other ideas. For a second or two his hands were gone but before Stiles could react, they were back and now the probing fingers were slippery and wet and one thumb slid easily into Stiles body as if it belonged there. A single drop of pre-cum oozed from Buddy's slit and Stiles groaned. "Oh, damn. Shit that feels good. Push it in further. Finger me, Derek. Please."

Derek pulled his thumb out and he slid two fingers back in as far as he could. Then he rammed them in and out as a look of strained determination wrinkled his brow and he worked his boy's hole fast and hard. Stiles was ecstatic. "Yes. Yes. Fuck yes." His butt humped back and forth as he rode the werewolf's talented fingers. As the first tingle of his impending orgasm sparked in his spine, his hole winked and immediately Derek pulled out and he sharply slapped Stiles on the butt. "Oh, no you don't. Don't you dare cum from a little finger fuck. I want my cock deep in your body when you do that." 

Stiles whined as his untouched dick humped the air and his ass swayed as though to entice something...anything...to plunge itself back into him. "Then do it. Damn, Derek. I need to cum. Hurry up and fuck me."

That was the level of desperation Derek had been waiting for. That was the assurance that although it would hurt, the pain would be swimming in the pleasure until Stiles drowned in his own need. As fast as he could, Derek poured oil onto his cock and he stroked himself to ensure full coverage while his other hand continued to play with the wrinkled opening that looked so tight and tiny. "Just relax, baby. This is going hurt but that's what makes it so good. Don't tense up. Just let me in. If it hurts too much tell me and we will slow down. Come on, baby. Let me in."

Stiles whined and his head flopped up and down as he tried not to clamp up at the feel of the big, fleshy head pressed against his hole. With a firm grip beneath the head and the foreskin pulled back, Derek forcefully pushed and he breached the ring of resistance. Despite Stiles grunt of discomfort, Derek gripped his boy's hips and he thrust forward until he was balls deep. Immediately, Stiles cried out and he struggled against the impalement. "Wait! Wait! Fuck, it's too much. It's splitting me open. Ouch. Ouch."

Reluctantly, Derek held still. It took all of his self-control not to fuck the boy fast and hard as his wolf reveled in his delicious cries, but surprisingly, he wanted Stiles to enjoy this too, so he stopped. He cooed and he rubbed his hand soothingly over the human's back. "Shhh. Relax, baby. God, you feel so hot and plush inside. You are so tight it feels like you are going to rip my cock right off. Relax. Let me move."

Stiles took several deep breaths. As the effects of the aphrodisiac seeped through him, his body eased up and his flagging erection returned with a vengeance that made the intrusion feel almost welcome and natural. When Derek noted the change, he drew back then slowly eased in. This time, the angle was just right and his cock head bumped Stiles prostate, sending sparks of white light flashing behind his eyelids. "FUCK!"

From there, it was game on. Derek slid in and out, and each thrust was quicker and deeper than the last while every third or fourth time, he hit his target. Both men humped and cursed. Stiles was slick with sweat while the heat that rolled off him bathed Derek in a warm glow. The room swam in a thick fog of sexual funk that smelled like heaven if heaven was a whorehouse.

Neither man could last. It just felt too good. When the first cold shock zipped down Stiles backbone, he remembered Buddy. "Derek. I need.... I'm close. My cock. Please. Touch me."

Derek was nearly there himself and his hearing was already shutting down as Stiles begging words and curses floated throughout the room. In an characteristically selfless act, Derek reached around and he grabbed hold of his human's dribbling cock and he stripped it fast and hard. Within seconds, Stiles body lurched and his dick throbbed and pulsed as it spurted the boy's hot seed out over the wolf's, firm hand. It was perfect and that, along with the rhythmic, internal squeezing, sent his own orgasm exploding into Stiles body.

Derek's cock grew and stretched even larger before erupting in a gush of hot release that ran out of Stiles overfull bowels, down his inner thighs and onto the expensive silk bed-cover. Derek couldn't have cared less about the bedding. He rode and ground out his orgasm until he was spent. He held where he was until the waves of pleasure that coursed through him waned and floated to the ground like a leaf that had been caught up in a hurricane.

Finally, his erection deflated enough that it was able to slide out on a gush of cum as both men tumbled into a heap of boneless elation.

 

"Do you want some coffee?"

Stiles shook the water from his face and tugged the shower curtain back so that he could hear over the gush of the steaming water. "What did you say?"

This time the voice that called to him was closer than before. This time it came from a smiling werewolf who stood in the bathroom doorway leaning against the door frame looking very sexy and relaxed.

"I said, do you want some coffee before you go?'

Stiles wanted to tell him no. That coffee was not what he wanted. What he wanted was another tumble between the sheets with the most incredible man he had ever met, but that discussion had already come and gone. They had laid in bed for over an hour, cuddling, whispering and kissing after the deed had been done. Stiles had stars in his eyes but Derek had his feet firmly on the ground.

Stiles wanted to make plans for later that day and the next morning and the week after that but Derek had gently responded with reminders of reality and the harsh state of being. Derek had finally convinced Stiles that not only was discretion the better part of valor, it was also the only way to survive. If anyone found out about them, the consequences would be dire.

Reluctantly Stiles had agreed, and after receiving a few derogatory remarks about his stinky odor he had gathered up his hastily discarded clothing off the floor and headed for the shower, while Derek pulled on some tight jeans and trotted barefoot towards the kitchen.

Stiles reached down and twisted the round knob that shut off the spray of hot water and he stood, dripping wet and wearing a big, bright smile. "Coffee would be great, but are you sure you don't have something else to offer me?"

Derek stepped back in feigned shock. "You are incorrigible! You are a greedy, wanton brat. That's what you are and I will not be tempted by your sweet, delicious body. Now do as you were told and get dressed."

Before Stiles could resume his campaign for the continued sexual exploits of Derek and Stiles, his wolf spun on his heels and disappeared from sight. Stiles jumped out, grabbed a thick, fluffy towel and he wrapped it around himself as he hurried to follow, but sadly, Derek was gone. After drying and dressing, he found the wolf sitting at his kitchen table sipping a mug of coffee.The coffeemaker was full and a small stream of steam drifted from it, indicating that it had just finished perking. Stiles shuffled over and helped himself.

"How you feeling?" Derek's tone was genuinely concerned as Stiles winced and lowered himself into the chair across the table from him.

"Feeling? Why, I'm fine and dandy. Why shouldn't I be? Oh, you mean because I just had the army of the Spartan 300 march side by side up into my ass, turn around and then dance back out? Well, yes, I suppose I am a tad ouchy from that, but considering that was the best fucking orgasm I have ever had in my life, I suppose I can live with a sore butt. A least until I have to shit then you will probably  
hear me screaming clear across town."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Are you always such a drama queen?"

Stiles snickered and blew onto his coffee to cool it. "Yep."

The next ten minutes was spent companionably. It was small talk that filled the spaces of easy silence and general, nonspecific conversation. Conversation that avoided any subjects that might be species related. They spoke of the weather, favorite music and old movies. Especially old movies. They had both agreed that no modern day actors and actresses could hold a candle to the stars of the eighties and nineties.

By two in the afternoon, Derek knew Stiles had been there long enough. Computer lessons would not take all day and lingering could arouse suspicion and gossip. Reaching over, Derek carefully eased the cup from Stiles hand and he set it on the table. "It's time to go, babe."

Stiles smiled sadly but he issued no further protests. Instead, he rose and took his empty cup to the sink. "Will you call me later today?"

Derek eased up behind his human and he wrapped his strong, warm arms around him. He kissed his neck and he nibbled teasingly. "I will. Then after that, you can call me and before you go to bed, I will phone you again just to say goodnight."

Immediately Stiles spun around in the werewolf's arms and he clung to him desperately. "I don't understand this, Derek. Why is this wrong? Being with you feels so good and so right. This is supposed to be a free country. How can other people tell us what to do? How can it hurt anyone if we just want to be together? You do want to be together don't you, Derek?"

Derek brushed the dark floppy hair from Stiles forehead and he planted a quick peck on his lips. "I do want to be with you and if we are very, very careful, we can. We just have to always be mindful not to do or say anything that could give us away. It might not be forever. Someday, the world's attitude towards us may change, and if that ever happens, I promise to hire a skywriter and proclaim my feelings for all the world to see."

Stiles captured the wolf's full, firm lips in a kiss of heated passion and humanity as he tried to tell him everything that he couldn't put into words. It promised Stiles faithfulness and his vow not to give up on them. It said that faith did not need logic to survive. When he stepped back, he lightened the mood with a reach-around pinch to the wolf's ass before chuckling and leaping out of the way of retaliation.

He quickly collected his things and he proceeded to the door. Then he paused and he tipped his head slightly. "What is the victory of a cat on a hot tin roof, Derek?"

Derek smiled knowingly at the old movie reference and he answered in the expected, "Just staying on as long as she can I guess."

With that, there was nothing else to say and Stiles walked out the door. Being more pragmatic than emotional, Derek went about the task of collecting the cups and rinsing them in the sink. He quickly made a cursory check of the apartment to assure that there were no traces of impropriety and he turned his stereo onto an oldies rock station that, in Derek's mind, would never go out of date.

At three P.M. he heard a knock on his door and decided that the boy would receive a stern scolding for his return. With a scowl on his face and a lecture on his tongue, Derek jerked the door open.

"Hey, Derek old buddy. What happening?" Bobby grinned.

Derek's brow creased. "Bobby? Did we have plans?"

Bobby shrugged. The fact was he was bored. Pinky didn't come on until eight this evening and that left him with an entire afternoon of pacing and repeatedly checking the time on his clock. It was a routine that could turn even a sane vamp crazy, and for one that was already teetering on the cusp... well, even Bobby recognized the need to fill his time productively. Besides, Derek had a great place, cable television and all the newest video games.

Quickly, Bobby squiggled past Derek before the door could shut with Bobby on the wrong side. "Um, not exactly a carved-in-stone date but I said to myself, Bobby, old man, I'll bet your best pal Derek is just sitting around wishing he had someone to talk to while he...."

Suddenly Bobby froze. His eyes bugged and his mouth dropped open. The rambling explanatory sentence died away as his head snapped back. His nose went in the air like a bloodhound and he frantically started sniffing. Derek made sure the front door was closed and he hurried over to caution Bobby before the unexpected guest could say something stupid.

"Bobby. Don't. Whatever you think you smell isn't...."

Bobby jumped away as if just being in the same proximity as Derek could be misconstrued as culpability. He then pointed an accusing finger. "That's Stiles Stilinski I smell. That's human cum and ass! Stiles had sex in this room and the smell is all over you! OH GOD! Don't deny it. You fucked a human!! You fucked Sti...!!!"

Derek slapped his hand over Bobby's mouth to silence him. Then, as Bobby's arms flailed wildly in the air, Derek manhandled the stubby little vamp across the room and he forcefully deposited him onto the couch where Bobby landed with a bounce. When he tried to scramble to his feet, Derek again flicked him painfully on the nose.

"Ow! Damn it, Derek. You gotta quit that."

"Then you need to sit down, shut up and listen to me." Derek waited as Bobby touched his nose and checked his fingers for blood. When Finstock decided that he was not going to be permanently disfigured, he folded his pudgy arms over his chest and he waited, although he couldn't imagine what Derek could say that would excuse such outrageous behavior.

When his visitor appeared ready to listen, Derek sat down on the coffee table in front of where Bobby hunched with an extremely ugly expression on his face.

"Listen, Bobby, you already know how I feel about the persecution and forced segregation of werewolves and vampires. It's wrong and I plan to do something about it. I believe that we are just as good as the humans and I am going to find a way to stand up for our rights. But that is my political agenda and it has nothing to do with Stiles. My feelings for Stiles are separate."

"Your feelings?" Bobby spluttered. "Are you saying you have feelings for the human? What about him? You fucked him. I can smell it. Did you force him? Did you...," Bobby's voice dropped to a nervous whisper, "bite him?"

Derek shook his head. He had to admit to himself that he had thought about it. Before, during and after their tumble, Derek had itched to drop his fangs and claim his boy, but they hadn't discussed it first. He didn't have permission and to claim by stealth was akin to rape. He wouldn't do that until he and his human could talk about it. But all of that was a private, intimate subject for Derek and Stiles. It was strictly need-to-know and Bobby did NOT need to know. "No. I did not bite him and I didn't force him to do anything he didn't want. Our sex life is our business Bobby and I won't discuss it further with you."

Bobby stared into Derek's steely green eyes and the little vampire seemed to calm considerably. Finally, he reached down and scratched his nuts. "Wow, Derek, lots of wolves talk shit but you back your shit up with a dick in the ass. I'm pretty fucking impressed."

Derek sat back and nodded. "That right? Impressed enough to help me with my plan?"

Bobby thought about it and surprised even himself when the bizarre words came out of his mouth. "Well, I 'm not making any promises, but you are a hell of a wolf so I guess it don't hurt anything to just listen."

Derek jumped up and slapped Bobby painfully on the back. "Good boy! Come on." He then snatched the vamp off the couch and he dragged him over to the computer and he shoved him down onto one of the chairs as he fired up the machine.

Bobby's head snapped in all directions to make sure there were no IVWRC gestapo hiding behind the fish tank or waiting to pop from behind the custom made drapes. He was already second-guessing his commitment while Derek began to outline his ideas. "Okay, here's what we are going to do. I think the way to start is to sign up on one of those dating services. We will find one that is strictly vamps and wolves but the most important thing is the wording. We want to just test the waters. It will be nothing overt. We will not include any picture or personal information."

Bobby twitched in his seat. He had no idea how he was going to explain all of this to Pinky when they fucked tonight. He hated the thought of her looking at him with disappointment in those beautiful green eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

'Hi. I'm an old-fashioned werewolf who would love to revisit the past with you. Women are all right but I need men with big balls and broad shoulders. I'm not into showers with men who have big hoses but I don't mind long walks and marching to a different drummer. Right now I am all alone but I am sure there are others out there like me. Let's get together and rock the world. Blow jobs are great but it is time to get off our knees and stand up. If you are looking for the same thing, write to me.'

"Well, what do you think?" Derek sat back from his computer and he critically examined what he had written. He didn't want anything too specific but he also didn't want the pendulum to swing so far into the vague side that he would be swamped with a bunch of clueless men who were only looking for sex. Sitting beside him, Bobby Finstock had been doing his best to offer helpful hints and suggestions as to the wording. Suggestions that Derek summarily disregarded while trying to let Bobby think he was a vital part of the plan.

When Derek's final draft seemed to be set, Bobby leaned forward, rubbing his chin and issuing a series of 'hmm's and 'aha's. He nodded his head and his face scrunched up unattractively. After he read through it several times, he sat back in his chair and gave his verdict. "I don't get it."

Derek rolled his eyes at the annoying Finstock as he patiently tried one more time to explain their goal. "I told you. This one is just to see if we get any intelligent responses. If it works, the next ad will be more specific and pointed. If this is a bust then I only look like a horny idiot and not a dangerous anarchist."

Bobby just shrugged. They had been at this for the better part of an hour and he was beginning to second-guess his idea that visiting Derek would be less boring than sitting home alone. He was still struggling with the concept of Derek butt-fucking the human, Stiles Stilinski, but for Bobby the real question was why any man, dead or alive, would want to fuck someone who didn't have soft pink little titties to suck on.

"Okay, yeah I get it. Oh! Hey! Look at the time! It's nearly five and today is Tuesday. You know what that means don't you?" From the blank expression on Derek's face, Bobby assumed he didn't. "That means today is dress-up day. Pinky could show up as a naughty schoolgirl or a cheerleader or even a wayward nun. I love it when she wears the nun hat. I even bought a priest's collar to put on for her when she does the nun routine. She is a hell of an actress, Derek. I swear, she could win an Academy Award if she wasn't dead."

Derek's big office chair made a quiet squeak-squeak sound as he swiveled it around and bounced it back while he studied the ugly little man, but when the mental image of Bobby whacking off in front of his computer while sacrilegiously garbed and praising the deities flashed in Derek's brain, he shuddered. "Yeah, okay, sure. Wouldn't want you to keep Sister Pinky waiting in the sacristy while you are fumbling in the pew." 

"Great. Great." Bobby jumped to his feet and he backed toward the front door. "I'll give you a call tomorrow and see how everything is going. Oh, and no offense old buddy, but I'm gonna pretend that you never told me nothing about this...." Bobby's pudgy fingers waggled in the direction of the computer. "Or that human thing. But hey, I'm here for you on anything else. We is tight, aren't we Derek old pal?"

Derek good-naturedly flipped Bobby the bird. "Yeah, Bobby. We're tight. Now get the hell out of here and go have sex with your right hand and, if asked, I'll pretend that I never met your ugly ass."

Bobby put two thumbs up and a beaming smile crossed his face as he darted out the front door. As soon as his visitor was gone, Derek turned his attention back to the screen. He had originally considered putting it up with no identifying picture but he never did do anything halfway. So following Stiles instructions, Derek tipped his face upwards toward the small camera on the top of his modem and he clicked the mouse. Immediately, his image appeared on the screen and he lined it up with the ad. Then before he could chicken out, he clicked the 'post' tab.

That was it. He was on. Now there was nothing to do but wait so he powered off and walked away, refusing to second-guess himself or worry about what might or might not occur as a result of his decision. Instead, he shuffled barefoot into the living room and settled on the couch. He turned on the telly. Then he changed the channel. He tucked his feet up under himself and then stretched them out straight.

He reached for his phone and he could already feel the smile creep from his lips up to the corners of his eyes, and he punched in the numbers.

"Hello? Is this the sexiest werewolf on the face of the earth?"

"Stiles! Damn. What if it hadn't been me calling? You have to be more careful!"

Stiles sat on his sofa. He had been counting the minutes since he got home and he was beginning to think Derek would never call. Despite his resolve to maintain some dignity and decorum, Stiles felt like a schoolgirl pining after the quarterback on the football team. When the phone finally rang, he all but squealed with excitement even as he tried to keep his voice casual. 

His giggle gave him away. "Caller ID, Derek. I knew it was you. So, what have you been doing since I left?"

Derek had already decided that the less Stiles knew about his activities the better. If the plan went south, Stiles couldn't be held accountable for something he had no involvement in. "Oh, nothing much. Bobby came over and we had some drinks. He just left a minute ago. Apparently this is Tuesday and...."

"And Tuesday is Pinky's dress-up day. Is today Little Bo-Peep or Bertha the motorcycle bitch?"

Derek chuckled and scratched his chest. "I think Finstock was hoping for the virginal Sister Pinky and...."

Stiles cut him off and finished the werewolf's sentence for him. "Oh, yeah, the strict Father Finstock and his spanking confessional."

After a moment's silence, both men gave a "EEWWW" in unison, followed by a roaring laugh.

The next forty-five minutes were companionable. It was easy chitchat that shared information, asked questions and gave each man a bit more insight into the object of their fascination and affection. Derek asked Stiles if he thought the werewolf should discard his bad boy look for something more modern and updated, and Stiles emphatically answered 'No!' The black leather, scruff and slicked-back hair were a total turn-on.

When the conversation came around to computers, Derek demanded to know if Stiles ad had been removed and a tingle of joy squiggled through Stiles at the stern, possessive tone in Derek's voice. "I'm sure it has. I told Lydia to do it. After we hang up, I'll go online and make sure."

Eventually, as the gaps between words grew longer and longer, both men knew it was time to hang up yet neither wanted to be the one to suggest it. Finally Derek took the initiative. He had been glancing over at his own computer and he was curious to see if his bait had attracted the attention of any fish. 

"Did you eat any supper, Stiles?"

"Supper? Oh, no, I guess I forgot. I'm really not hungry so...."

"Tut tut. You have to keep your strength up. I don't want to be working you over and have you suddenly pass out from hunger. Go. Eat something. I'll call you later."

Stiles chucked at his silly werewolf and although he wanted to sit there and listen to that lovely voice all night, now that he thought about it, he was a bit peckish. "Yes, sir, mister werewolf. I will go and scrounge up some supper. So, what time do you want me to come over tomorrow?"

The immediate answer to Stiles question was dead air, and for a quick minute he thought maybe Derek had already hung up. "Derek? You still there?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry baby, I was just thinking. Since you were here all day today, I don't know if it is a good idea for you to be here tomorrow too. Maybe we could meet somewhere and just spend some time together. You know, take a walk or have a cup of hot and steamy. I have a few things I need to tend to in the morning, why don't I call you in the afternoon and we can see what's happening."

This time it was Stiles who fell silent at the waffling, generic excuses. It sounded like the same flat tone and superficial phrases he had often used himself when easing into a boyfriend dump. But that couldn't be. They were getting on so famously. Weren't they? Was this a werewolf thing? Use 'em and lose 'em? Stiles could feel his confidence and euphoria floating towards the ceiling and out the window, yet he refused to whine or demand assurances. "Yeah. Sure. I understand. Hey, look at the time. I gotta go. Talk to you soon. Bye."

"Oh, okay well...." But before he could tell his human goodnight, Stiles had hung up and Derek was left holding the phone in front of his face and staring at it as though he could look through space and read the odd human who suddenly seemed to have a bug up his ass.

"Geesh! Humans! What the fuck makes them tick?"

Setting the phone on the table, Derek unfolded himself and he tentatively eased over towards the computer. He was both anxious and fearful of what he might find, but the truth was, his greatest fear was finding nothing at all because that might mean no hope. He refused to believe that he was the only werewolf in the world who was willing to spill his blood in order to demand the rights that had been stolen from them along with their lives.

With a renewed determination, Derek sat down and he powered on. He went to the site he had listed in his bookmarks and he logged in. What he saw caused his heart to leap in his chest. There were hundreds of responses! In less than three hours! Responses from every corner of the United States and several from around the globe.

Leaning forward and beginning at the top, Derek began to study each short response. He immediately deleted the ones that were blatant requests for sex. Next, he highlighted the ones whose wording was slightly suggestive to Derek's political agenda. These responses contained phrases such as, 'I'm old-fashioned too' or 'Maybe we could talk.' But the answer that really caught his eye was sent by a man who called himself A. Lincoln.

It read: "Hi. You sound like just the man we have been looking for. We are a group that likes to meet in the dark. We enjoy talking about the old ways and don't agree with modern times. We also like to travel and are planning a big move to somewhere that we can play our hand of cards. If you are a gambler too, we would love to have you join us."

Derek sat back and blew out a long, slow whistle. Could this be for real? Was there actually a group of rebel werewolves planning an uprising? A million questions spun around his head as he tried to find meaning behind each of the words. Questions like, 'where in the world are they based?' and 'how many are there?' and especially concerns that spoke to his fears of a trap. A setup. It could be a human attempting to weed out troublemakers or incite werewolves to riot.

Derek decided he would answer, but his terms and expressions would remain cautious and innocent. This wasn't something to be done lightly or in haste. This required thought. 

Disregarding the other horny men and perverted proposals, Derek shut off his computer and he headed for the shower. After a good night's sleep, he would compose a carefully worded answer tomorrow.

Stiles sat in front of his monitor. His mouth hung open and he could all but hear his heart crack and break. He had logged on and checked the Elitemales.com site to make sure that Lydia had kept her word and removed his ad. Surprisingly, she had. After that, with a naughty giggle, he decided to take a peek at one or two of the werewolf dating sites. It was strictly a research thing. He wanted to see if he found other werewolves attractive or if there was just something special about Derek.

He started at one that touted male wolves for male wolves and he clicked on the 'just added' category. The first werewolf that popped up was indeed attractive. He was gorgeous, he was sexual. He was dark and green eyed. He was....

"Derek."

Stiles was flabbergasted. He wanted to be furious, and by some small measure he was. But more than that, he was confused and hurt. The time and date stamp on the posting was proof positive that as soon as Derek had hustled him from his apartment, he had gone online trolling for werewolf lovers. Their coupling hadn't meant diddly-squat to the wolf. It was nothing more than wham bam thank you Stiles.

"Jesus, Derek. How could you?"

Stiles flopped back in his chair and as he did so, his sore, painful butt-hole mocked him with its reminder of the amazing things the werewolf had done to him. Although, sadly, the ache in his heart far surpassed the one in his rear. He thought they really had something. He thought there was a connection between them. He had allowed himself to forget, or at least disregard, the fact that Derek was a werewolf. That obviously was a major mistake.

"So I guess it's true. You fucking werewolves really are heartless." Stiles poised the mouse in the upper right hand corner of the screen aiming it at the little red X that would end his suffering and shut down the picture. But he couldn't do it. Apparently he hadn't tortured himself enough and he needed a bit more suffering. With that goal in mind, he scrolled down to see how many responses the bastard had gotten.

One by one, handsome, smiling, virile wolves popped up on the screen. Although their messages to Derek didn't show up, one critical point did. At the side of the grinning, smug faces, either a small, limp cartoon penis appeared or a proud, rigid erection. The tiny sketched hard-on indicated that Derek had corresponded with them. Stiles whimpered. 

He wondered what traded innuendos and promises were being bantered about between them. Stiles wondered if Derek was saying the same endearing things to these men that he had whispered in Stiles ear. As all of this swam through Stiles head, he stared at the faces of the handsome werewolves that had caught Derek's attention.

And that was it. 

That was all he could take for now and he clicked off the site that was bringing him so much agony. He turned off the gooseneck lamp that sat on his desktop and he went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a good think. He refused to cry. He had his dignity. He had his pride, and he also had a strong sense of right and wrong. As he considered all of this he knew he had a choice to make. He could pretend that he had never seen the posting and he could continue to let Derek play him like a cheap fiddle, or he could stand up for himself and call a halt to this situation. 

Situation. He no longer thought of it as a relationship. It was now a 'situation.'

He would take the stance of superiority. He would be the one to tell Derek to piss off and Stiles would act as though their little tete-a-tete was nothing but a romp on the wild side. A venture into the sexually forbidden, and now that the itch was scratched, Stiles would think no more about it. 

"Damn you Derek. I could have lived with the wolf part but why did you have to be a jerk?"

Stiles stood in the kitchen trying to remember what it was that he was supposed to be doing here but his brain was a blank. As he turned to go back to the sofa, the phone in his pocket jangled and vibrated as he jerked it out and flipped it open.

"Stilinski Integration Service."

"Oh, baby, I just adore that official tone in your voice."

"Derek." Stiles hissed.

Derek frowned and took the phone from his ear and glared at it. That was not the reception he had expected when he called. He anticipated giggles and whispers.

"Yeah, sure it's me. You sound a bit down in the mouth, love. Anything wrong?"

Now Stiles was mad. The light, flip tone in Derek's voice was like a slap in the face, and suddenly Stiles decided how best to handle this peculiar situation. Derek didn't know it yet, but the ball was squarely in Stiles court and he was about to lob the hell out of it. Immediately, he chuckled and the tone of his voice took on a distant, strained pleasantness that said he really didn't want to be bothered.

"Oh, no, nothing. I guess I was expecting someone else to call."

Derek was shocked by the human's almost annoyed attitude. Derek couldn't wait to call and he had expected Stiles to be just as thrilled to hear from him. Clearly, he wasn't. "Oh, well, I don't want to keep you if you are waiting on a call."

"Okay. Thanks. I'll see you, Derek."

"Wait! Don't hang up yet. Are you sure everything is all right?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Um, I don't know. Are you coming over tomorrow?"

Stiles snorted and shook his head in disgust as he wondered what kind of fool the werewolf took him for. "Didn't you say that wouldn't be safe? Aren't you the one who said I shouldn't be there too much? I'm not one for intruding where I'm not wanted, Derek. I would hate to cramp your style. Look, I gotta go. I'll be in touch. Bye."

"Wait!" But it was too late. Derek was holding a phone with a dead air sound that told him Stiles was already gone. "Wha...?" Derek considered re dialing and demanding an explanation, but he had a sinking feeling that Stiles would not pick up. Fucking caller ID. 

He didn't get it. Stiles had never treated Derek like a werewolf. He had treated Derek like a man, and he thought they had enjoyed their time together. God knew Derek had enjoyed it and if the wet spot on his bed was an indicator, Stiles had gotten his happy too. So what had happened? Was Stiles having second thoughts and deciding that the consequences of becoming involved with a Wolf carried too high a price?

Derek was depressed. Despite his better judgement, he had allowed himself to remember what it was like to feel a willing man squirm and writhe beneath him. He had forgotten what a joy it was to sit and talk to someone who had mutual interests, likes and dislikes. He had allowed his sealed, locked heart to open up, and now apparently he was being punished for his foolishness. The fucking universe apparently wasn't done screwing him over.

"Well fuck you too, Stiles fucking Stilinski!"

Derek threw his cell phone down on the sofa, where it bounced and landed behind a cushion. He then grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and he stormed out the door with the intent of heading down to the nearest werewolf watering hole and getting royally pissed.

And what better place to do that than The Bite and Thrust?

It was a dive, even by werewolf standards, which tended to be generous in terms of acceptability. Unlike humans, werewolves were less bothered by a few rodents and insects. To the contrary, since a rodent seldom got out alive when confronted by a drunken, peckish werewolf high on wolfs bane.

It was only two blocks away so Derek decided to walk. Werewolf or no, drinking and driving is never a good idea. Besides, he just wanted to spend this evening alone, drowning his sorrows and not drawing any attention to himself. He wanted to wallow in self pity. He wanted to swim in his wolfs bane laced beer of self-deprecation. 

Just for tonight, he wanted to forget all about unfaithful humans and plans to take over the world. For tonight, Derek wanted to do nothing more than get so drunk that he would have to crawl the two blocks back home. A worthy ambition and one he couldn't wait to get started on.

In less than fifteen minutes, Derek's palms slapped the door face of the Bite, causing it to swing inward, and Derek swaggered through. The bar was dark and gloomy. It smelled of stale beer and poorly discarded animal corpses. On the upside, there was no reek of human piss, no sweaty armpits and no foul bathrooms. It was amazing how disgusting the human body could be to a sensitive nose.

When the thought of Stiles taking a piss began to enter his mind and threaten to cause a tear to form in his eye, Derek immediately harrumphed, squared his shoulders and marched toward the bar where he slapped his hand on the craggy wooden surface. "Gimme a beer and a shot!" his voice boomed.

Instantly, and as if by magic, a tall cold one, followed by a shot glass slid down the bar and landed right in the palm of his hand. When Derek looked up, the bartender nodded before returning to his animated conversation with two fat redneck werewolves. One of which looked vaguely familiar.

Derek chugged the beer, belched and slammed the empty mug back down. With the first drinks breached, he now took time to look around the room and assess the level of scum that was present tonight. Other than the bartender and the two good old boys who were happily arguing with him, there were less than a dozen other customers in the joint. 

God he need a good, old fashioned bar brawl.

Two couples sat at a booth back in the corner. Three men played pool in the center of the room. Two skanky women were humping and dancing together next to an antiquated jukebox that was pumping out country music, and a huge man whose smell identified him as a werewolf was trying to interject himself between them.

It was your standard pack of lowlife bar flies. Made even lower by the lack-of-human element. The bar was set with the perfect cast of characters for this stage play that Derek had envisioned in his mind. He would begin with the men at the pool table. A fast hustle to separate the clueless men from their money would stir the mood of discontent. Next, he would interject himself between the wolf-man and the nasty whores. Not because he would ever consider fucking them but what better way to piss off a wolf than to mess with his bitches?

The two couples in the back would stand in as the audience. Derek would play to them. He would drink and fight and cause a scene that would have them on their feet and applauding at the chaotic melee.

With a relaxed smile on his face, Derek downed half of another beer, gave a slight nod of his head, and he pushed off from the bar he had been leaning against. He then casually strolled over to where the three were in the process of setting the balls for a round of eight-ball. He stood to the side quietly sipping his brew as the balls clacked together as they were snugged tightly into the triangle. When one of the men noticed Derek, he winked subtly towards the others.

"How they hanging?"

Derek smiled innocently. "Oh, they seem to be hanging just fine. You gentlemen about to engage in a bit of pool?"

The tallest werewolf grinned. "We are indeedy. Just a friendly game. You play?"

Derek wandered over to the rack on the wall and he selected a pool cue which he turned over and over in his hand as if he weren't entirely sure which end should make contact with the balls on the table. Still examining the foreign object, he returned to the table. "Well, I have played a time or two but to be honest, I never cared much for the game. I was always more of a baseball fan myself."

Then, before the light of realization could appear in the confused werewolf's eyes, Derek gripped the pool stick by the end and he swung with all his might. Babe Ruth would have been proud. The resounding 'crack' echoed throughout the room as the stick exploded against the werewolf's head and the deadly wood splinters flew everywhere.

The bartender shouted. The skanks screamed and the two couples dove under their table as the fight exploded into action. Three against one. It was clearly unfair odds as Derek took all of his hurt and frustrations out on them, summarily whooping their asses before they even had the chance to get their footing.

When one of the three got in a lucky punch, Derek sailed across the room and landed at the feet of the shorter whore. He quickly reached up under her short skirt and tweaked her on the pussy. The move achieved its goal and, with a roar of outrage, the werewolf dove into the scuffle.

Furniture was broken. Glass shards and blood were everywhere. Broken teeth and clumps of hair littered the floor along with unconscious bodies. By the time Elmer the bartender had restored order, Derek and Hank, the billiard bully, were best pals. They stumbled arm in arm from the tavern and shook hands as they went their own way, agreeing that this was the best night either of them had had in weeks.


	14. Chapter 14

Stiles sat back with a smug, evil grin on his face as he stared at his computer screen. Payback could be a bitch but so was a scorned gay man. If Derek wanted to play games, Stiles was just the one to play with. After a lot of cursing, stomping and tossing things about, Stiles decided that it was more productive to channel his anger in the direction of the werewolf that had caused it rather than punish an innocent tomato or the television remote control who had done nothing to him.

Once retaliation became the entree on his platter, Stiles immediately began devising a plan. It had to be something that would show Derek for who he really was without making Stiles look whiny, needy or pathetic which, to be honest, was exactly how he was feeling.

The fact was, Stiles relationship with Derek had come to a sudden halt but Stiles wanted to make sure Derek knew why and that the sneaky werewolf was not as skilled in his undercover activities as he thought. In addition, as a farewell gift, Stiles wanted Derek to know exactly what had precipitated their break-up. 

That was when it dawned on Stiles. The perfect way to go about it. The subtle slap in the face that wouldn't allow Derek the chance to argue or plead his case through a string of lies and excuses that may cause Stiles to sway and weaken. Stiles would confront Derek on his own turf. He would respond to the werewolf's dating ad.

Wasting no more time, Stiles hurried over, powered up and sat down as the screen again came to life. After the debacle that was his own dating ad, he knew that in order to respond to Derek's, Stiles would have to create a profile. One that identified him as a werewolf looking for love. So he did. He went to the application page and he began to type.

Name: Buddy Tubesteak Password: dicklicker Occupation: Taste tester for McDonalds Date Bitten: July 4th, 2008 Alpha's name: Bubba Ross

What you are looking for in a date: I want a wolf that is not a cheating, lying, cocksucking bastard. Okay, actually I don't mind a bit of cocksucking but I am holding firm on the lying, cheating part. I want a man who does not butt fuck an innocent guy then cruise the Internet for his next pork dinner. I want a guy that says what he means and means what he says. Are honesty and decency dead ?

When he was satisfied, he grinned into the camera and he hit the mouse. Immediately, his smiling face was added to his profile. Stiles then clicked the 'submit' tab, and within seconds he was welcomed to the werewolf dating site. Wasting no time, he then scrolled down to where Derek's ad was still attracting tons of horny responses and Stiles added his profile to the mix.

He then happily shut down his computer and skipped off to bed. In the morning, he was just certain that there would be a nice, big, erect cartoon penis beside his name and Buddy Tubesteak would have caught Derek's full attention.

Meanwhile, across town, the object of Stiles plotted revenge was staggering happily up the street towards home. His was still buzzed from the whisky and happily bloody from the flying fisticuffs. His nose was broken and a couple of ribs were probably cracked but it was exactly what he needed, and the pleasant distraction of the pain took his mind off the treachery and disloyalties that were a certain human.

Derek was ashamed. You would have thought that a man who had lived through family dying and had seen what he had, would not have been so gullible as to fall for a sweet smile and a few flowery words. But he had. He had opened himself up to love and he had been stabbed in the heart.

"Well, no more!"

Derek clung to the lamppost to avoid falling over as he shouted his defiant declaration. When he did, an elderly werewolf couple out for an evening stroll quickly crossed the street to avoid the apparently psychopathic Alpha who was shouting and waving his fist in the air. His face was swollen and bloody and his clothes were torn and stained, and regardless of what had caused his state, the two knew trouble when they saw it.

When Derek spotted the couple as they hurried to put distance between themselves and the crazed young man, he angrily pointed his finger at the husband while yelling at the startled wife. "Don't trust him! He's a man and all men are fucked up cheating assholes! Dump him! Dump him now before it is too late!"

The husband and wife who had been turned well into their seventies by a well meaning Alpha lodger, clutched each other's hand and scuttled quickly down the street and around the corner, disappearing into the night, leaving Derek alone. With a despondent sigh, he carefully pushed off from the iron base of the street light and he staggered away in the direction of home.

After winning a frustrating battle with his house key, Derek tumbled in through the front door and kicked it shut behind him. He was done. He couldn't think about his ad on the computer or his plan for werewolf civil rights. It was all too complex and involved to deal with on a bubbled brain. But most of all, he couldn't think about Stiles. That was a hurt that far exceeded his healing cuts, scrapes and broken bones.

Derek just wanted to pass out. He wanted to slide into blissful oblivion and not think anymore. As he choked back a sob, he grabbed a pillow and fell onto the couch. With his own bed still smelling of his human and their mixed, spent seed, there was no way he could sleep there tonight. Or possibly ever again. Within three minutes of lying down, Derek was dead to the world.

Wednesday morning dawned bright and cheery in the classic style. The sun shone, the birds coughed to each other from the treetops and roof peaks and the breeze that blew through the air was warm and smog filled. It was the kind of day that no one, dead or alive could find fault with.

"Son of a bitch!"

Derek clamped the pillow over his face in an attempt to block out the small sliver of light that was seeping through the glass of his windows. His brain felt like it had swelled to three times its normal size and was on the verge of exploding through his skull and splattering grey matter all over his walls.

His mouth tasted like he had been sucking on a ferret and his nose appeared to be bent at an unnatural angle. Gingerly he felt his sides to assess the damage and he wondered what had caused the bones in his legs to turn gelatinous. Gradually the memory of the night before came back to him, and despite his present condition he had to chuckle. 'Oh yeah,' he thought. 'Good times. Good times.'

Knowing what he had to do, Derek lifted the pillow and, as quickly as he could, he snapped his nose back into place, shuddering at the sickening sound of cartilage crunching and shifting. 

"Ouch, fuck."

Derek needed meat, he had meat in the fridge. The question was how to get the two situations to work together without his dying a final death on his expensive carpet. Roughly, he rubbed his hands over his face and rolled off the couch and onto the floor. From there he crawled the seemingly impossible distance to the kitchen on his hands and knees. After retrieving a slab of raw beef, Derek dropped his fangs and tearing off great lumps of the raw, chilled meat, gulped down the lot.

No-one said werewolves we dainty eaters.

Derek rolled into a fetal position to rest. With the influx of fresh meat he should be back to his old self in only an hour. Okay, maybe an hour and a half.

"Son of a bitch!"

Stiles sat bolt upright in his bed. He had been drifting slowly towards wakefulness as his body gently nudged him from sleep. Suddenly, one or two of his brain cells kicked in and the memory of what he had done the night before hit home.

"Oh, my God! What the fuck was I thinking? How could I have done such a stupid thing? That was a fucking Werewolf site!"

Stiles flipped around with the intent of leaping from his bed. Instantly, he caught his legs in his blankets and landed painfully upside down, cracking his head on the hardwood floor. Tentatively he touched the growing goose-egg on his forehead while he frantically kicked the tangle of sheet off his feet and scrambled toward his computer.

"Come on come on come on come on." He urged desperately.

Stiles tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for his machine to power up and go online. From there, he squeamishly typed in the name of the site and he cringed when it opened. Immediately he typed in the username of Buddy Tubesteak followed by his personal password of dicklicker. All he wanted to do was cancel everything out before the authorities could catch him engaged in such an unheard of, forbidden, criminal activity.

What he saw caused his jaw to drop. He had hundreds of responses. From men. From handsome werewolf men who commiserated with Stiles search for the one decent wolf left on planet Earth. "Wow." Stiles leaned forward and he slowly scanned down through the faces of the men who had responded to him. They all seemed so normal. They all looked so nice. They all wanted to meet him and do delicious, unspeakable things to him that caused Buddy to snicker in his boxers.

He had attracted more men than even his human ad had. "Hmm. He looks nice." Stiles stared at the white row of sparkling teeth and the dark, alluring eyes of a certain Sexbiter500. Reluctantly, he shook his head and tried to get himself tugged back to earth and the harsh reality that these men had no clue that Stiles was an off-limits human. It was kind of sad.

Then he was reminded of the real reason he had placed the ad. The bastard, Derek! Quickly,Stiles scrolled down through the list of men and he was shocked when he reached the end and Derek was nowhere to be found. Derek had not responded!!

"Oh, so I'm not appealing enough? My face doesn't catch your eye? Or maybe I am a been-there-done-that. Is that it? Once you have sampled the hot meat plate you are ready to move on to cold cuts? I will not be ignored, Derek!"

Against his better judgement, Stiles decided not to remove his ad just yet. He would give Derek one more day to...what? Prove he was not the jerk Stiles knew him to be? See Stiles face and realize what a fool the werewolf had been? Stiles wasn't sure what response he wanted but he knew he at least needed an acknowledgment. So he left the ad untouched.

"Son of a bitch."

Lydia sat on her bed with her legs tucked up under her. Her babydoll pajamas were wrinkled and her hair rumpled from a good night's sleep. Now that she was awake, she was beginning to doubt her decision to set up an encounter between Trevor and Stiles. In fact, it was beginning to feel more like an ambush than a romantic rendezvous. Although she seldom ever admitted that she might not be perfect, she realized that sometimes, in her enthusiasm, she might overstep her boundaries.

But it was too late to stop it. She didn't know where Trevor lived and he wouldn't be working in the spaghetti shop until later tonight. "Damn." Climbing off the bed, she paced back and forth across her room while she attempted to sort out a resolution to this problem. She didn't want to call Stiles on the phone. It would be too easy to hang up on her. She needed to see him in person so she could bat her sad green eyes at him. That never failed. He would have to forgive her. Besides, Stiles said that he was crazy about this guy so he should be grateful that Lydia was moving things along at a little quicker pace.

"Oh, I know." Lydia stopped walking as the perfect solution revealed itself. "I told Trevor to be there at noon. I'll just get there at five minutes before noon and give Stiles a heads up. Before he has time to et pissed off, Trevor will show up and there will be lots of smoochies. It's perfect!"

With that dilemma solved, she happily skipped downstairs as she shouted for Betsy to fix her breakfast.

"Son of a bitch!"

Trevor jumped from bed and he headed for the bathroom. His morning wood bounced in front of him and waited patiently to be spanked in the shower. He had hardly slept all night in his excitement at the prospect of finally having the handsome Stiles Stilinski plow deep into his ass. Up to now, things with them had been one debacle after another, but today was a sure thing. It was guaranteed by Stiles very own fag hag and Trevor was certain nothing could go wrong this time.

By midmorning things had improved considerably and Derek was happily back on his feet. The meat had magically restored both his body and mind and he was feeling good as new, with the minor ception of a nose that still appeared slightly askew on his face. It was a condition that held no concern for him. He would simply make sure that the next werewolf he picked a fight with was left handed and the shifting of Derek's features would move to the opposite side, thereby correcting itself.

Now that he was fully recovered, he calmly sipped his steamy cup of coffee as he strolled purposefully toward his computer. He needed a clear mind and a calm, careful mood in order to appropriately espond to A. Lincoln's cryptic message.

Derek was stark naked. Once the intake of protien had begun to repair his body's damage and clear his brain, he had removed the stale, rumpled clothing he had slept in and he now moved about his apartment without the uncomfortable constriction of clothing. As he sat at his desk, his dick flopped between his legs and his smooth firm thighs rested wide apart on the cool leather chair.

While the fingers of his right hand idly ghosted over his chest and stomach, his other hand had the mouse dancing across the screen as he skipped through the steps that would take him to the dating site and the man who may or may not hold the same secret and interest as Derek. The man had used the pen name of A. Lincoln. If the intent behind the message was to be believed, that name was the perfect choice and it's meaning was not lost on Derek. 

A. Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln. The president who freed the slaves. So was Mr. Lincoln's short response an emancipation proclamation of sorts? Derek had to know. As soon as he arrived at the site, he logged on and scrolled down to where Lincoln awaited Derek's acceptance or rejection.

Derek clicked on the cartoon erection and a blank box appeared on his screen. After a second or two to collect his thoughts, Derek began to type. "I think you are the man I have hoped for and I would love to meet your friends. I believe we share the same interest in history which includes the knowledge that J.W. Booth was a human. Let's meet and talk about our hopes and dreams. Give me a time and place. I'll be there."

Derek read and reread what he had written. As he did, he found that his fear and apprehension melted away and were replaced by a strength of conviction that what he was doing was right. Then, out of curiosity to see if there were any other leads that had been added after he fell asleep last night, Derek scrolled down through the 'newly added' group of men respondents. He never made it to the bottom of the list. As soon as he landed on the familiar cupid's bow lips and the brown eyes that sparked with life, Derek froze. His mouth dropped open and his face jerked forward so that his blinking, unbelieving eyes were just inches from the screen. "What the fuck?" Quickly, as if to find an explanation in the words, Derek scanned the small paragraph and the intent became clear. "Oh for Christ's sake. You reckless, foolish boy."

Derek leapt from his chair and he dove onto his couch. His hands fished around in the cracks of the cushions until he located his cell phone and he punched in the familiar numbers. While he waited impatiently for an answer, Derek's feet took short, bouncy steps and he continually muttered threats and curses at the impulsive human who had just done the stupidest thing a human could do.

"You have reached the voice mailbox of Stilinski Integration Services. Please leave a message and a call-back number at the tone." *BEEP*

"Stiles. Stiles, are you there? Goddamn it Stiles, take the ad off! Take it off NOW! Look, I'm on my way over to your place. It isn't what you think. Please, Stiles, if anyone sees that...."

*BEEP*

"Fuck!" Derek snapped his phone shut and he ran for the bedroom to dress as quickly as possible. Within minutes he was in his car and headed across town. His foot begged permission to slam the pedal to the floor and fly, but Derek knew better. A werewolf caught breaking the law, even a traffic law, on the human side of town could expect a long, painful punishment, and right now Derek had more important things to do than suffer the wrath of a meter maid's stun gun.

Stiles scratched his nuts through his smiley face boxers as he dragged himself toward his kitchen. He hadn't slept well all night as his emotions ran the continuous loop of sad and depressed to angry and furious before sliding back to sad again. By sunrise he was exhausted, and his eyes were puffy and red as a result of his crying in the privacy of his lonely bed.

Sympathetically, the old coffee maker began to perk and fill the room with the rich, life-giving smell of roast coffee beans for its master. While he waited, Stiles shuffled back towards his living room and the vile computer that sat there. He knew that for his own safety, he had to remove the ad. Putting it on was a crazy and imprudent thing to do and, if caught, there would be no explanation he could give that would save him from arrest and conviction. 

Of course he could simply claim it had been a lark. A joke. As a human, his punishment would be no more than a fine, but it would be on his record and he would be labeled a fraternizer. Considering the nature of his business, he had always been overly cautious to avoid any appearance of impropriety, and it made no sense to throw it all away now on something as silly as a broken heart.

When the dating site loaded, he took a moment to scroll down through the wolves who wanted to pump life back into him and he snorted at some of the corny lines they used. There was every cliche from 'holding hands as we stroll on the beach' to 'there are 206 bones in my body but I'm saving the best one for you'. Actually, Stiles kind of liked that one but the smile it put on his lips faded when he reached the last man posting and he realized that Derek still had not responded.

With a sigh of defeat, Stiles deleted his ad. He then went to Derek's profile and was sick to see that another cartoon erection had been added. Derek had written to his admirer this morning. They were probably making plans to meet and greet. That glorious cock that probably still carried Stiles scent would soon be happily pumping away in some werewolf's ass while Derek murmured endearments. It was a thought that made Stiles physically ill and he was glad he had no food in his stomach.

"Well. That's that." 

The ad and all references to it were deleted. Stiles shut off his computer and he walked away. At this point, not even coffee would make him feel better and it was just his bad luck that there were no more chocolate donuts in the house. The only comfort left was a hot shower. With a shuddering sigh he turned toward the bathroom, but before he could take the first step, a loud, rapid-fire pounding on his front door had his feet nailed to the floor in fear.

His first thought was 'The IVWRC!' He instantly imagined that he had been reported and they had come to take him away. He could see himself tossed into a dungeon of rats and snakes where he would be fed only stale bread and water. And they would expect him to shit in a hole in the floor! Stiles couldn't shit anywhere but his own toilet! He was screwed!

"Stiles! Open the fucking door!"

The recognition of Derek's voice sent a relief flooding through Stiles that was so profound that for a moment he forgot all about being mad and hurt. Instead, he rushed over and jerked the door wide open just as Derek raised his fist to pound again. There, the two men stood face-to-face.

" Stiles." Derek's tone was low but there was no doubt that he was anything but calm and rational. By now, Stiles had recovered from the terror he felt at his imagined discovery and he again had his priorities firmly in place. He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his chin upwards. He knew Derek wouldn't dare force an entry and there was no way in hell that Stiles would compromise his pride and resolve by playing Welcome Wagon to a scurrilous werewolf.

"I don't think so, Derek. If you have something to say, you can say it right there."

Derek glanced in both directions up and down the hallway to make sure none of Stiles neighbors were dipping in on their personal business and he tried again. He placed his palms on the doorframe and fought the urge to push Stiles aside.

"Whatever you think is happening is not what is really going on. If you let me in, I can explain. I can see that you are mad and you have a right to be. Maybe you even hate me but...."

"Fuck you, Derek. You aren't important enough to hate. Look, we had a bit of a romp and now, like you, I'm ready to forget about it. So why don't you just run along and...."

"Stiles, please, don't do this. You're wrong. I wasn't looking for men. Not the way you think. Not for the reasons you imagine. Let me in. If your neighbors see a werewolf outside your apartment, they will ring the authorities."

Stiles rolled his eyes and huffed despite the fact that he could already feel himself swaying in the direction of giving in. "Oh, so you want to come in just to save your ass?"

Derek lowered his head and rested his forehead against the door frame as he diverted his eyes. His voice was only slightly above a whisper and Stiles had to strain to hear. "No, I want to come in because I care about you. More than I should and if you turn me away, I'll kill myself."

Before he knew what was happening, Derek heard the words, "Come in," as he felt himself jerked through the doorway and slammed against the wall. Stiles shut the door and they were alone. He was still mad and not convinced, but against his better judgement, he had to hear what Derek wanted to say. Derek may have breeched one barrier but the one around Stiles heart was still firmly in place and the declaration of love had a face value of zip.

"Fine. You're in. Now you have ten seconds to...."

Before Stiles could issue his time-stamped ultimatum, Derek grabbed him by the arm and dragged the human over to where his computer sat, and Derek shoved his boy into the chair.

"Take it off. Take your damn ad off that werewolf dating site."

Jerking his arm out of the werewolf's grip, Stiles scowled as he rubbed over the quickly coloring bruise. "I already did. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Relief drove Derek to his knees and he wrapped his arms around the human's waist while he nestled his head on Stiles lap. Stiles was shocked. He stared at the dark hair and felt the solid grip of the powerful arms that encircled him. After a moment's hesitation, he did the only thing he could do...He carded his fingers through the thick. soft hair and melted at the sound of purring that emanated from deep in the werewolf's chest.

It was suddenly all irrelevant. The dueling ads and the men, both human and not, who answered them. It was secondary. Primary were the words that Derek had whispered to Stiles heart. They were words that now felt so real and true. Derek had promised a reasonable explanation and Stiles was ready to listen.

"Talk to me, Derek. Tell me what is going on. Why are you writing to that man? Who is he?"

Derek snuggled in closer as he soaked up the heat from the human's body. When he answered, his voice was muffled into Stiles crotch. "I can't tell you. It would be dangerous for you to know."

"Okay, that's it. Out." Stiles jumped to his feet, causing his companion to tumble in an undignified heap on the floor. Just when Stiles thought they had gotten on track, Derek spouts bullshit and Stiles was through. 

Now it was Derek's turn to be mad and he leapt to his feet. His hands balled up at his sides and squared off. "Fine. You want the truth? You got it."

And for the next thirty minutes, Stiles sat in stunned silence as Derek laid it all out. The proposed civil rights movement and the hint that there was a group of like-minded werewolves that Derek was hoping to join. It was a plan with consequences so horrifying that Stiles now regretted that it was nothing more serious than a wayward lover who was seeking to cheat.


	15. Chapter 15

"Are you fucking insane? Has being a werewolf somehow compromised your ability to rationalize?"

Stiles sat at the computer and looked at the stranger with the cryptic message that Derek interpreted to be a comrade in the fight for werewolf rights. To Stiles, it appeared to be nothing more than another horny man who was suggesting an orgy of fangy fornication. How Derek was reading it as 'come and join us in our fight for freedom' was beyond understanding.

"You just aren't seeing this with the same perspective as I am, Stiles. You aren't coming from a werewolf background of persecution and segregation. You have never walked in my shoes. You don't know what it is like to...."

Stiles turned around in the swivel chair and faced the werewolf who was now immersed in his speech of woeful suffering and martyristic dramatics. Stiles was torn between giving a standing ovation for the acting and applying a baseball bat to the back of the beautiful dark head to attempt to knock some sense into him.

"Save it, Derek. The Academy Awards are still months away. Look, I know things have probably been difficult for you since you were outed, but we all have our little crosses to bear. Shoot, look at me. I've got a bunion on my left foot that has been driving me crazy for the past two years but you don't see me asking the fucking doctors to cut off my leg over it do you? There are just some things that we have to learn to live with Derek. My foot. Your lack of civil rights."

"Moron." Derek's eyes squinted as he crossed his arms and adopted a rigid stance while giving his human a glare that spelled out the vast difference between a toe lump and oppression where your God-given freedoms used to be. Stiles had the good grace to be shamed. But that really wasn't what he was feeling at all. The emotion he was really feeling was fear. Fear for his foolish werewolf and fear for himself at the prospect of losing the most wonderful thing he had ever known in his short human life.

"Look, Derek, there are just too many pitfalls in this whole thinking of yours. This could be an innocent message from a horny wolf. It could be a trap set by a human. Even if it was all on the up and up, things could go south fast and you could be dead before the sun sets. Frankly, Derek, I'm not ready to give up on you and us just yet."

Derek crouched down so that the two men were on the same level and he could look directly into Stiles eyes as he tried to make his human understand. "Don't you think I have thought of all that? That and a hundred other possible scenarios. I have weighed all the sides and tried to determine the risk. Please understand, Stiles. When I first wanted the computer, it was to find a companion and I found better than that. I found you. But I also realized that this opened up all sorts of other wants and needs that I have inside me. I have the need to be free. To be a real wolf again. For me. For you. If there is any chance that I can be me again, I have to take it."

Stiles placed his warm, large palm against Derek's cheek and the werewolf snuggled into it. As he did, Stiles tried to imagine what it must be like to be constantly dismissed as less than worthy. His heart ached for Derek but the sympathy did little to assuage his fears.

"Derek, it's hopeless. You are two people against the world. What could you possibly do to change...."

*ding*

Before Stiles could finish the thought, the little bell on Derek's computer caught their attention and was immediately followed by a small cartoon peter that bounced into view. The dancing dick then grinned and blinked its singular eye before it skittered, using its hairy balls as little feet, across the screen while shouting, "You have a response. You have a response."

Stiles head snapped around in horror. "Don't read it, Derek. Please. Just delete it." But Derek was already muscling Stiles out of the chair as the werewolf slid in. He then clicked on the 'open' tab and the message popped up.

"Hi. You are in luck. My friends and I are getting together this evening for a book club meeting. Tonight's selection is called 'A Gift Freely Given.' If you are interested, we are meeting at sundown in the basement apartment beneath the Bone Cruncher's Cafe on First and Market. We hope to see you there. The more the merrier. A. Lincoln."

"YES! YES!"

Stiles stared at Derek and failed to understand why the werewolf was leaping about and punching his fist in the air in unrestrained exuberance. "A book club, Derek? This doofus invites you to a meeting of werewolves discussing a book about being bitten and you act like Johnny Depp just offered to let you sniff his dirty underwear."

Derek spun and twirled as he did a short ass wiggle. He then dropped back down in an effort to make his boy understand the importance of what Lincoln had just said. "No, Stiles, you're wrong. It's code. The book is about the suffering of werewolves during the Great Purge. It tells about the struggle to gain equality through government representation. Lincoln's group of werewolves is just what I had hoped for."

Stiles leapt to his feet in horror. His heart pounded and his head buzzed. "No. You can't go. It's too dangerous!" But Derek was already rushing around the apartment making moves that looked suspiciously like a man about to take his leave. In desperation, Stiles did the only thing he knew to do. 

He dropped his pants.

"I'm horny, Derek! I need sex! Now!"

Derek paused in his task of easing towards the doorway inconspicuously and he turned to face the human that was standing in the center of the living room. The boy's pants pooled at his ankles and the tee shirt hem rested at the top of his nest of black, crinkly, curly pubic hair. Derek glanced down at the limp, uninterested dick.

"You're soft."

Immediately, Stiles grabbed himself and he roughly started jerking and stroking in an effort to back up his declaration. However, Buddy was uncooperative. "Damn. Okay, wait a minute, it's coming up. I can feel it now. It's starting to fatten."

Derek chuckled and walked over to his boy. He grabbed Stiles wrist and stopped the rapid motion in mid-stroke. It was early in the afternoon. He didn't meet Lincoln for hours and if things went badly, he didn't want his last time with Stiles to be remembered by an argument.

"Shh. Let me. Maybe my fingers will...oh, yes. There he goes."

Stiles sighed happily. He didn't have to look down to know that Buddy was already responding to the warm touch of the man that now meant everything to him. Happily, Stiles raised his arms and with a chuckle, Derek read the signal and tugged the tee shirt over the boy's head, causing his floppy hair to fluff and fly as the static electricity in the air snapped and sparked.

Derek also quickly peeled off his clothing while Stiles kicked the pants from his feet. They then took the two small steps that separated them and they pressed their naked bodies tightly together. As the rush of heat and passion filled and flushed them, Derek dove in for a kiss of fire and lust. Immediately, Stiles groaned and opened his mouth for the tongue to taste and possess him.

Buddy needed no more coaxing. Both men were hard as a rock. They moaned and ground their bodies together as the need to get off surged and crawled beneath their skin. Their balls ached and their cocks dripped between them. Suddenly, Derek broke the kiss. He grabbed his boy by the arm and spun him around, shoving him in the direction of the back of the couch. With a whimper of submission, Stiles draped himself over the sofa. He spread his legs and he humped, rubbing his erection over the fabric as he waited.

Lydia hurried into the elevator and impatiently tapped her foot to the tune that played in the background. She had begun to feel uncomfortable about sending Trevor to Stiles apartment without checking with her friend first. In fact, if she thought too much about it, the whole situation smacked of pimping and she shuddered at the thought. Most importantly, she didn't want Stiles to misinterpret her helpfulness and caring for intrusive interference.

Therefore, it was critical that she get there first. She would explain. They would talk it over and Stiles would understand. By the time Trevor arrived, she and Stiles would be laughing at the silliness of it all and she would then back out gracefully leaving her friend and his new friend some privacy to do whatever it is that gay men do.

"Come on. Come on." She patted the elevator wall impatiently as it seemed to take forever to reach his floor. Finally, the doors slid slowly open and she jumped out and hurried up the hall. When she reached his apartment, she considered knocking but he would think it odd and suspicious since she knew he kept a spare key under the mat. 

Wasting no time, she shoved the key in the lock and turned the knob as she swept the door wide open and stepped inside. "Stiles, honey, you home...EEEKKKK!!!"

The sight in front of her was burned into her brain for the rest of her life, but just when she thought things couldn't be worse than catching her best bud in flagrante delicto, they proved they could.

As the strange woman burst in, Derek reacted instantly to the perceived threat. He pulled his wet, shiny cock from Stiles hole and he shoved the human behind him while his features shifted and his fangs dropped. He crouched and the growl that emanated from his chest and throat sent a ripple of sickening terror throughout her body. 

"Wait. Stop. Lydia, it isn't what you think." Stiles grabbed Derek around the waist and tried to pull the werewolf back to intercede himself between his lover and his meddling friend. 

Lydia had stumbled backwards until she was stopped by the wall. She then stabbed a finger accusingly toward the two. "You are having sex! He's a werewolf and you are letting him.... Oh, God, please tell me he forced you. It's too disgusting to think that you would let him.... Oh, God, I think I may be sick." Lydia slapped her palm over her mouth as she dry gagged behind it.

By now, Stiles was less startled and embarrassed than he was pissed off. Lydia had not only intruded on his privacy uninvited but was now imposing her unwanted beliefs and opinions on both him and his werewolf.

"Then if you are so sick at the sight of me, why don't you just get out and leave us alone!"

The harsh tone of his voice stunned her and she took her hand from her face. She blinked and took a moment. Both men were stark naked and sporting crude, obscene erections. Their hands constantly drifted over and brushed against the other man's legs, hips, hands or any flesh that was available in a move that seemed to seek more comfort than sexual satisfaction. That was a revelation that was even more disturbing than if it were simply an anonymous fuck.

Yet, she still couldn't allow herself to believe what was happening. She had known Stiles all her life. He was the brother she never had. She couldn't allow him to throw his life away. She hesitantly took a step forward as she kept her eyes on Stiles and refused to acknowledge the vile creature next to him.

"Honey, look, I know that we all do things when we get horny. Sometimes they are foolish, reckless or even abhorrent things but you have to think about this. What you are doing is illegal. Is this...thing worth going to prison for?"

Stiles had, had enough. He marched past her and she flinched at the bouncing erection that slapped his belly with each step. When he reached his front door, he gripped the doorknob and turned to her. "Get out and don't ever call me again until you can treat me and my lover with some respect. His name is Derek. He is not a thing. He is not a fleabag. He is the man I am with, and if you need to turn me in to the authorities then...."

Lydia's eyes widened and she looked horrified. "Turn you in? I would NEVER...."

Whatever else she was about to say was cut short when an unexpected rapping came on his door.

"Stiles? Hey, you in there?"

"Oh shit!"

The smell of the strange human in the hallway caused another growl from the werewolf and Stiles pointed his finger at his lover with the order, "Down, boy!" followed by a glare at the wide open eyes that shone with guilt.

"What the fuck have you done, Lydia?"

"That must be the pizza. I'll get it." Lydia snugged the large bath towel around her naked body as she shouted and hurried across the living room to the apartment door in response to the insistent knocking. When she jerked it open, the shock and realization of her mistake were obvious on her face.

"Trevor! Oh, shit, I forgot all about you coming."

Just then, on his well-timed cue, Stiles came rushing from the bedroom. Equally clad in nothing but the briefest piece of terrycloth, he appeared stunned by the familiar face of the spaghetti boy who was flustered and befuddled on the threshold.

"Stiles? What's going on here? Are you two...? Holy fuck! Are you...?"

Stiles hung his head in shame. Although the whole scene should have been the answer to Trevor's questions, the repeated chant of 'Are you? Are you?' led Stiles to the conclusion that apparently Trevor was a bit slow on the uptake. Finally, Stiles threw his hands up. He had been caught. "Alright. Yes. I admit it. I am a closet straight."

Trevor gasped in horror at the disgusting revelation and he tossed down the bouquet of daises that he had brought. The small box of chocolates went back in his pocket and he took a step back and he glared back and forth between Stiles and the redhead who had set him up for this debacle.

"You two are disgusting. I don't know what kind of sick sex games you are playing but if you thought I would be the third in this perverted little hetero wheel, you are very much mistaken. And as for you, mister, don't ever step foot in the Spaghetti Junction again or you just may find your sauce topped with a fresh lugie!"

Stiles wrinkled his nose up and watched as Trevor stormed off. He then closed the door and the room went quiet. Lydia scowled and tightened the towel around her slim body. "Well, I think you owe me a debt of gratitude for covering for you."

Unconcerned with his nudity, Stiles jerked the towel off himself and slammed it to the floor. "Gratitude? If you hadn't stuck your nose in where it didn't belong, Trevor wouldn't have come over here in the first place. If you hadn't marched in here like you owned the place, you wouldn't have interrupted me and Derek in the second place. Gratitude? You must be insane. You know what your problem is? Because your parents are rich, you think you own the world and everyone in it. You are a snob, Lydia. A spoiled, uppity, arrogant snob."

Lydia's mouth dropped open and for a moment, she was too stunned to respond. She and Stiles had argued a million times over the years but he had never spoken to her like this.

"Do you really think that?"

With the words out, Stiles fury was spent. His head dropped to avoid looking at her and his arms folded protectively around himself. "Yeah, I guess I do. We have always been friends Lyds, but you go too far. You do things that you don't have any right to do."

Lydia nodded her head as she eased over to the sofa where her clothes had been tossed in haste just a few minutes earlier and she dressed in silence as Stiles stood quietly by. Both of them fought the urge to apologize as they believed they were too right to admit to any wrong. When she slipped into her shoes, there was no more reason to stay. She paused for just a second to see if Stiles would recant, but his rigid stance told her he wouldn't. With nothing more to say, she walked out the door.

"I'm sorry, baby. I've caused a terrible rift between you and your friend."

Stiles looked up in response to the comment and was even more dismayed to see that the werewolf coming out of his bedroom was fully dressed and apparently also about to leave.

"No, all of that is something I should have said long before this, I just should have done it before it came out in anger. So, it looks like you are going too."

"You know I have an appointment, yeah?"

"The book club?"

Derek ran his hand over his head to assure himself that his hair was slicked back tightly and no stray strands were sticking up. He knew if he gazed too long at his naked, beautiful boy, he would also chuck his clothing and stay for the rest of the day. But he couldn't do that. Not even a world-class fuck could justify this missed opportunity. "The book club. Yes."

Suddenly, a new idea came to Stiles and he lurched excitedly towards his lover. "I'll go too. Take me with you. We can show them that there is a human who believes in your rights too! We can...."

Derek grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and he shook the boy, hoping to rattle some sense into him. "NO! Stiles, no. We don't know anything about these werewolves. They are fighting against the human population and they could be dangerous. You can't be anywhere near them. In fact, I'm going back to my place first to shower and wash all traces of you off my body and clothes. I can't risk them finding out about you. It could put both of us in jeopardy."

Stiles threw his arms around his werewolf and he hugged him tightly. Derek's logic was irrefutable despite the fear it stirred in Stiles. It terrified him to think of Derek stepping into a den of vicious werewolves bent on changing the world. Before he could voice his fears further, Derek reached around and smacked him soundly on the bare ass, causing Stiles to jump and rub the red hand print on his butt cheek. "Ow. You bully."

Derek chuckled an in attempt to lighten the mood and soothe Stiles fears. He gave the boy a chaste peck on the lips, a sweet smile and he quickly walked out of the door. For a long time Stiles stood, naked and alone, in the center of his living room. A small part of him expected Derek to return, but he knew that small part was only hope in a hopeless situation. Derek was not coming back. Maybe ever. 

"Bullshit!" 

Stiles hadn't gotten where he was by taking a passive role in life. He was not some whimpering fishwife waiting on her man to come home from the sea. He was Stiles Stilinski, successful businessman! A man who took charge of his own life and was not to be beaten by anyone!

With a renewed vigor and determination, Stiles spun on his heel and he darted towards the bathroom. Like Derek, Stiles first task was to scrub all traces of the werewolf off his skin. After that he would dress, and when the sun went down, he would take a little trip down to the corner of First and Market. Once he got there, he wasn't exactly sure what his next move would be but he just needed to take a peek and make certain that Derek wasn't walking into a trap.

Hurriedly, Stiles bare feet slapped across the hardwood floors. As he passed his computer, he stopped and jotted the address down on a scrap of paper so it wouldn't be forgotten. He then ran to the bedroom to get ready.

Lydia subtly blew her nose on a paper napkin, sniffled and then took another sip of her cooling coffee.

"Well, you look like a gal that is not having a good day. May I?"

Lydia looked up from where she sat in the booth at the coffee shop. The man who was asking permission to sit across from her was ruggedly handsome with gray threads in his hair and salt and pepper mustache and short, neat beard and had a smile that looked like he had squeezed at least fifty two teeth into his mouth. With one more dab to her nose, she conjured up a weak smile and nodded her agreement. He quickly slid in. When the waitress stopped by, he ordered his own coffee and a refill for Lydia.

"So why is a beautiful girl like you so sad on a wonderful day like this? Did your 401k tank? Did your puppy run off? Or maybe you just lost your best friend? Come on, why not tell me all about it. I guarantee you will feel all better if you do."

Lydia lifted her head and took a really good look at the stranger who was so concerned. He had an air of companionability about him that gave her a feeling of comfort and inspired well-being. Maybe he was right. Maybe a stranger to confide in was exactly what she needed to lift the heavy burden off her shoulders.

"What did you say your name was?"

The stranger's face lit up and he extended his hand to her. "My name is Chris. Chris Argent and I have nowhere to go and the whole afternoon free, so why don't you tell me what has a delicate flower like you so upset and maybe I can coax a smile from those lovely lips."

Lydia giggled as her fingertips brushed over her mouth before she again frowned at the memory of all the cruel and untrue things Stiles had said to her. "Oh, it's a long story. You don't really want to hear it."

Chris reached across the table and he laid a large, warm hand over her small one. "I really do. Come on, Lydia, tell me what happened."

"Well, um...did I tell you my name?"

Chris looked perplexed and scratched his head as though he too were surprised by his error. "Gee, you must have. How else would I have known it?"

Lydia shrugged. Her brain was so tear-logged that she could hardly think let alone remember, but he was right, how else would he have known? Just then, the waitress returned and poured them both a hot cup. Lydia blew on her coffee and took a sip. When she set the cup back down, she began to talk.

"Well, I have this friend. Stiles. We have been best buddies forever but I guess you never really know someone even if you think you do. Anyway, I went over to his place this afternoon and...."

Chris studied her face intently and he hung on every word.

Six o'clock was the evening news on television. A liquor store robbery. A random shooting on the city bus. A yellow cat rescued at great taxpayer expense from a pear tree. Same old same old. It entered Stiles ears but never made it to his brain as his attention repeatedly drew his eyes to the window to check for the sun's agonizingly slow descent in the sky.

Seven o'clock was a peanut butter and tomato sandwich to put something in his nervous, empty stomach. As he ate it, he paced repeatedly between the kitchen and the small computer stand where he had scribbled down the book club's address. Each time he checked, he was reassured to see that it hadn't changed.

Eight o'clock had him standing in the center of a dim, nearly dark room. He hadn't turned on any lamps and the lack of seeable light confirmed that daylight had finally faded. It was sundown. Somewhere across town, Derek would be preparing to leave his apartment. In another place the werewolf conspiracy was setting up chairs and snacks. Stiles barked out a hysterical giggle at the idea of them serving ladyfingers. Literally.

"Stop it! Stop it! Get a fucking grip on yourself!" The sound of his own stern voice chastising himself brought a semblance of rationality to his irrational mind and gave him a renewed determination. He made one last trip to the window to confirm the rising of the moon and then, despite the fact that the words were indelibly carved in brain-stone, he looked once more at the piece of paper. 

"First and Market. First and Market. First and...what? Oh yeah. Market."

Stiles allowed one small whimper to sneak out before he sucked it up and headed out the door.


	16. Chapter 16

It was a long, unremarkable street of brownstone houses intermixed with small, single-shop businesses. In the old days they had been storefront bakeries that specialized in wedding cakes for the predominantly Italian families that lived nearby. There was a fish market that offered a fresh catch of the day and on the corner was a shoe repairman that, by the end, saw very little traffic through his front door but hung on by sheer tenacity.

With the emergence of the werewolf population, small neighborhoods like this were swallowed up, taken and used as housing for supernaturals with the intent of keeping large pools of the undead and werewolves clustered in controlled environments for IVWRC observation.

As always occurs in any demographic, the werewolf and vamp populations formed their own groups within the group. A pecking order of sorts. Divided by wealth, success, power and length of time dead, the werewolves, like running water, sought their own level.

This neighborhood was basically middle-class. It was low-key and the authorities seldom found a reason to come here. It was not suspiciously affluent nor was it the type of place Bobby Finstock would call home. It was invisible. It had clean, regulated flow and meat shops, secondhand stores and businesses that were werewolf and vamp-specific. It exuded an air of compliance and satisfaction with the status quo.

When Derek pulled around the corner onto Market street, he was beginning to have his doubts. As he sat in his car, an older werewolf couple strolled by walking their dog. The man nodded and Derek lifted his hand in a half wave. When they were out of sight, Derek climbed out of his car and he stared at the building whose address he had memorized. It was nothing like he had imagined but he couldn't leave without finding out. 

With that in mind, Derek walked over and up the steps to the glass-front doors. Next to the mail slots was a nameplate that listed the occupants, and as he scrolled down, Derek was surprised to find that this building was almost exclusively professional.

The first floor contained a podiatrist, a dentist and an accountant. The second floor was a law firm and the top floor was import/export although Derek couldn't imagine what their product could be. For now, though, that was not his concern. What was his concern was the fact that he didn't see any book club listed, and for a moment he wondered if he had been fooled. 

Then he saw it. Down at the bottom of the faceplate. A small, recently added placket that read: 

'Sovereign Book Club. Members only.'

Derek ran his fingertips over the carved letters and the number -1 that indicated the book club was in the sub-level apartment. Quickly, he darted back down the steps and into the outside stairwell that dropped one more floor. There he came to an unmarked door. There was no name or distinguishing traits that would reveal the flat's occupation but Derek took the chance and knocked.

A voice from within called out. "Who is it?"

"Name's Derek. I'm here to see A. Lincoln."

After a short pause, the deadbolt slammed back and the door swung open. The sight that confronted Derek was nothing that he expected. He had imagined a dark, clandestine group wearing hoods and robes, possibly chanting and waving snakes in the air as they danced wildly around a small, candle-lit room. What he found was much different.

"Derek? Hi. Come on in. I'm Lincoln but you can call me Thomas. Lincoln is just my internet name. We can't be too careful. You understand."

Derek smiled and stepped inside while Thomas closed the door behind him. Despite the warm, congenial welcome, Derek was nowhere near ready to drop his guard. Inside, the apartment was bright, open, clean and filled with happy, well-dressed, chatting werewolves moving about as they visited and sipped on goblets of rich red wine.

Derek scowled and muttered in disbelief. "It's a fucking cocktail party. It's actually a bloody book club." With a hearty laugh, Thomas slapped Derek on the back. "Please, Derek, don't be too discouraged. Go. Have a drink. We are about to get started. I think you will find our speaker very entertaining."

Hesitantly, Derek eased into the milling crowd. He picked a wine glass from the table and he was pleasantly surprised to find it was a high quality vintage from a human run vineyard. Incredible. As he mingled, Derek exchanged banal pleasantries with the others who were discussing sports scores, the weather and the state of late night television. It was all so surreal. 

Derek was confused and befuddled. At one point he found himself wondering if he had read the book they would be discussing tonight. He hated to appear unprepared.

By his second drink, he was mellow and relaxed. When Thomas stood at the front of the room and clapped his hands to gain the group's attention, Derek smiled and set his glass on the serving table. As the chatter and din of the room quieted in anticipation, Thomas proceeded.

"Good evening. I'm thrilled to see so many faces here tonight. Besides the familiar ones, we have several new members to our club and I encourage you to make them feel welcome. Our strength is in our numbers and the commitment to our cause. As you know, this is a very special evening and we have an extraordinary guest. He is a werewolf who has traveled all over the world finding and organizing small pockets of werewolves who believe as we do that all men are entitled to the same quality of existence and that no one should be judged solely on their ability to breathe and not bay at the moon. Because of him, these vast numbers of collective werewolves and our vampire brothers presently lie as sleeper cells and await his call to stand as one. He is our inspiration. He is our leader. Ladies and gentlemen, he is Peter !"

The room exploded in wild applause and a standing ovation as the crowd went crazy. They shouted and stomped their feet in unrestrained enthusiasm. Every werewolf in the room was exuberant. All but one. "Peter?" Derek mouthed the single word as his brain scrambled for correction and coherence. 'It couldn't be the same one. Certainly there must be hundreds of Peters in the vamp and were communities. Maybe....'

But his denials all fell flat when the side door was flung open and a short, slender, muscular man with familiar dark hair and goatee strode across the small, elevated stage area. He arrogantly outstretched his arms as if to physically soak up all of the adoration from the worshiping crowd, and he turned from side to side generously giving every set of eyes the chance to get a really good look at the closest thing to a werewolf god to ever walk the earth.

When the appropriate amount of time had passed, he held his hands up and appeared modest and nearly embarrassed by all of the attention. Knowing he was in full control of the crowd, Peter bid their silence so he could speak. The applause stopped and the mob pressed in closer as they awaited whatever words would fall from his golden lips.

"Ladies and gentlemen. Werewolves and vampires. I am honored to be here. I have spoken at book clubs, garden clubs, Elks and Masonic Temples all over the world. No matter what the cover story you use to gather together, the purpose is always the same. OUR RIGHTS."

The room again exploded in shouts of agreement and approval. Modestly, Peter ducked his head and smiled shyly. Derek just rolled his eyes. He had known this doofus too long and too intimately to be sucked in by him again. Not that Peter had ever sucked him before. The selfish bastard.

Derek wondered how much these people knew about their great leader's background. Peter had done well for himself and like Derek, Peter had enough hidden gold to live comfortably for centuries, unlike Derek he never lost sleep over where it came from. Peter preferred to survive by his wits. He schemed and scammed his way around the world while he bit who he wanted and he killed randomly, sometimes without cause.

Peter was a chameleon. He could blend in and disappear. He was a charlatan and a snake oil salesman. The only constant about Peter Hale was that he was not to be trusted.

"Thank you. Thank you. Please. You are all too kind. I am just here to tell you that you are not alone. WE are not alone. We have lived under the forced oppression for long years and it is time we stood up and claimed our rights in a society that we helped to create. We have cringed and cowered long enough! We are proud! We are here and we will no longer be denied!! We are the Insurrectionists! The world will soon know our name!!"

Derek drifted to the rear of the room as the crowd again erupted in applause and shouts of;

"Insurrectionists! Insurrectionists!" 

"What do you think?"

Derek jumped at the sound of the voice so near his ear. His head snapped to the side and he was face-to-face with a grinning A. Lincoln, AKA, Thomas. Derek smiled and carefully measured his words. "He is an amazing speaker and he certainly has the crowd fired up. I just wonder...I mean others have tried to overthrow governments before and...."

"No." Thomas's eyes shown with admiration for the godlike leader that stood before them. "That isn't what he advocates. Listen to him. He tells of standing up like men. Real men. He says he has people in place to run for government positions. People who can change the laws. We have the power. We can be the werewolves who will change the world. Not like the fuckups of bygone years, this time we will do it right."

To Derek it all sounded like heaven. It was everything he had ever wanted and all he had hoped for in the past years since the great outing. The only problem was that it was all a pipe dream being constructed by an asshole who was no doubt out for a personal profit of some sort.

As Derek glanced around, he became infuriated by the hope and trust he read in the yellow eyes that watched the man on the stage. They all believed in this jerk and they were all in for a massive letdown. They would be kicked in the ass one more time and this time by one of their own.

That was when Derek made a decision. He might not be able to give these werewolves the equality they wanted in society but at least he could stop this false hope. With that end in mind, Derek worked his way through the tightly packed group. He wedged and he elbowed until he finally reached the front of the cheering mob, and from there he stepped up where Peter could not possibly miss him.

And he didn't.

Without even a pause or hesitation in his well-practiced speech, Peter looked right at Derek, winked and continued with the promises and assurances he was offering. Derek was rattled.

After an hour-long seemingly redundant speech that had worn the audience from excitement to frenzy to exhaustion and finally near-boredom, Peter finally shut up. When he did, he bowed out a side door and cloistered himself in a guarded private room. Within ten minutes of his exit, Derek was summoned. He was informed with great reverence that he had been granted a private audience with the Great One. Derek was then led to the back where the guide rapped on the door, then stood guard outside after Derek slipped in.

"Derek."

"Peter."

"Long time no see. You look well dear nephew."

"I am. You didn't seem surprised to see me in the audience."

"I have eyes and ears everywhere, Derek. It was by my instruction that Thomas contacted you."

Derek walked around to where Peter sat behind a huge desk. His ass was settled into a large leather office chair that oddly resembled a throne and Derek wondered if Peter had, had it especially made for just this occasion. But a chair really didn't matter, and instead of asking about the distracting dog-and-pony-show things, Derek dropped down on a side seat. He then propped his feet up on the desk and he got down to the meat of the matter.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Peter? I know you too well to think that you are suddenly interested in the political workings of the social structure of the world's werewolf population. Unless you have found a way to make a buck off of it."

Peter slapped his hand to his chest and he sighed. "You wound me, Derek. There was a time when you would have believed me if I said the sky was green and a woman's pussy didn't smell like tuna fish. Now you mistrust me while you adopt an air of superiority. An odd position considering you are the one snuck back and stole most of my gold after we parted ways. So is this a case of a thief calling the kettle black?"

Derek was caught off guard. What could he say? It was true. Only, not quite. "Your gold? It seems to me that it was Nazi gold, and if you go further back, it wasn't even theirs. So they stole it, grandfather stole it, you stole it and finally, yeah, I helped myself to some too."

Peter chuckled and waved his hand dismissively as though the gold was a petty issue. "No problem, Derek. I'm glad you could use it to help through the lean years. Of course, I'm sure that in your own way, you will want to repay me for my generosity, and it just so happens that I have the perfect solution to settle this little debt. And that solution is a human by the name of Stiles Stilinski."

Derek sat still. He tried to keep a calm, blank expression on his face as an icy cold rush zipped through his body and landed like a rock in the pit of his stomach.

"Stiles Stilinski? He is a man who helped me with some computer lessons. What has he got to do with any of this?"

Peter roared with laughter. "You never could play poker, Derek. You should see the shocked look on your mug. Did you honestly think I just drifted into town to give a little speech and then skip on to the next city and the next group of witless werewolves? Really, Derek, I thought you knew me better than that. I know everything. I have eyes everywhere. I know all about your sick little sex games with your computer geek. Is it still as good as it used to be, Derek? Is plunging your hot, hard cock deep into a warm ass still as wonderful as I remember it? Did he let you bite him when you fucked him, Derek? Does he beg you to...."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Derek leapt to his feet. His fists were balled up at his sides and his chest heaved with the unnecessary breaths that strained in his lungs. Lunging forward, Derek slapped his palms on the surface of Peter's desk and he leaned in so that their faces were just inches apart.

"You stay away from Stiles Stilinski. He has nothing to do with this plan of yours and if anything happens to him I'll...."

"What, Derek? What could you possibly do to me?"

Derek glared. By now he had regained some semblance of control and he stood up while never taking his steely green eyes off Peter's shifty blue ones. "I will tell all of your little followers exactly who and what you are. I'll tell them how our fucked-up grandfather called you his little Peter while he bent you over and rammed you up the ass. How do you think they would feel about following some Nazi sympathizers butt-monkey?"

Peter tipped back in his chair and sighed happily as he reminisced about the good old days. "I think they would be thrilled to be linked to a disciple of the human race's biggest demon. Who knows? Maybe they will make a bronze statue of my sphincter in honor of the contribution I made to society. Don't be a fool, Derek. My activities before being this are of no interest to anyone out there. All they care about is what I can do for them now, and what I intend to do is locate and organize all of the pockets of dissidents that I can find."

Something about the wording of that statement troubled Derek, but right now he couldn't focus or analyze what it was. Not when he had other concerns that demanded answers. "So what does this noble little endeavor of yours have to do with Stiles?"

The smug look on Peter's face told him he again had the upper hand and he smirked. "I'm glad you asked. The way I see it, it would advance our cause considerably to parade a mixed couple of human and werewolf and show the public that love comes in all shapes, sizes, colors and levels of life. You are in love aren't you? Of course that really doesn't matter as long as we can prove that you are fucking him. Oh, hey, how about if you let him fuck you a couple times too? You know, play the equality ticket. Oh, yeah, that would be perfect! It would be the greatest revelation since the big outing in San Francisco years ago."

Derek stepped back from the desk. He straightened his backbone and tipped his chin up. He would not give Peter the satisfaction of seeing him scream or beg for Stiles life. He still wasn't sure what Peter's game was, but Derek intended to find out. For now, there was nothing more to discuss so Derek turned and strode towards the door. He then stopped and spoke in a quiet voice that left no doubt as to his mood. "Stay away from Stiles and me. We will not be any part of your dangerous games and I promise you that the next time you and I meet, I will kill you."

An answer was not required and none was forthcoming as Derek walked out of the room and closed the door softly behind him. After a few moments, a side door in the back of the room opened and a man slipped in. He walked over to the window and stared out at the dark city below. "Is he going to be a problem?"

Peter glanced over at the man and paused. He wanted to offer reassurances but he knew from past experience that Derek could be a bit of a wild card. "I don't know, but we are too close to risk interference now. Is there anyone watching the boy?"

The man at the window nodded. "Yes. Which isn't too difficult, considering he is parked about a block away. I think he is here to try and rescue his werewolf."

Peter barked out a laugh. The very absurdity of it eased his mind considerably. "Priceless. Simply priceless. Then, for now, I think we will leave them be. When I give the order, I want the boy picked up and brought to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. Of course. Is there anything else you need?"

Peter swiveled his chair around and he slowly lowered his zipper as he licked his lips. "Yeah, I do believe there is. Why don't you bring that hot little ass over here and sit down on my big hungry cock?'

Without question or hesitation, the man dropped his pants, straddled his werewolf's lap and impaled himself painfully as the huge cock filled his body to near bursting. Peter moaned in ecstasy. He threw his head back and gripped the man firmly by the hips as his lover rode him hard and fast while Peter shouted his name.

"Chris. Oh, fuck, Chris. You hot fucking bitch."

 

Derek made his way quickly back through the crowd that had now broken up into small klatches of chatting, plotting werewolves who were scheming a world coup while sipping wine. No one paid any attention to him as he rushed for the exit and out into the cool, clean fresh air. There, he stopped and bent over at the waist. He rested his hands on his knees and allowed all the sickening terror to pour through and over him. The thought of harm coming to Stiles because of their recklessness made Derek want to vomit.

His brain spun. How could Peter have known? No one knew. No one but.... "Lydia." Derek stood straight up and whispered the name again. "Lydia." It had to be. Who else could have told? Was she in cahoots with Peter? That part was doubtful but one thing was certain, Stiles best friend had betrayed him. It was a disturbing idea and one that played on his mind as he started up the street to where he had parked his car.

It was all he could think about until something caught his eye that slapped all thoughts of Lydia out of his brain. The dark, overcast sky was no hindrance to Derek's night vision. "What the hell?" Derek's pace picked up and he marched at a near run down the street. He strode by the closed shops and darted past the alley to the corner where the blue jeep was snuggled into a 'no parking' zone.

Stiles knew the instant he had been spotted. He had been enormously relieved when Derek came out of the building unscathed and he considered driving off then, but he couldn't. Not yet. He needed to assure himself that the werewolf was safely on the road and not being followed. By anyone else. When Derek glared right at him, Stiles knew the cat was out of the bag and he slumped as far down in the seat as he could, considering the cramped interior space.

When the fist pounded on his side window, Stiles scooted back up and sheepishly rolled down the glass as he chuckled nervously. "Oh, hey Derek. He he. Wow, imagine running into you here. What a co-inky-dink, huh?"

Derek was furious. "What the hell are you doing here? No! Don't answer that." Derek looked in all directions to see if they were drawing any unwanted attention. His urge to scold Stiles and possibly even spank his bottom till it was red and shiny would have to be postponed. Right now, they needed to get out of this area. They could not risk being seen together, especially since they were no longer a secret.

"You listen to me and do exactly as I say without questions. Drive all the way down to the River Road. Stay there for five minutes then go to the gas station off Jarvis Street. Go inside and buy something. Make sure that other people see you then drive quickly to my place. Park in the rear and come straight up to my flat. We need to talk."

Stiles studied Derek's face intently as he mentally followed the directions Derek was giving him. He nodded at each twist and turn and when Derek stopped talking, Stiles had only one question."What should I buy?"

"What?"

"When I get to the Speedway. What should I buy?"

Derek blinked and shook his head in flustered frustration. "I don't care what you buy. You are establishing an alibi and a time line, not doing the week's marketing."

Stiles tapped his finger on his chin and he frowned. "Yeah, of course. It's just that if I get a soda, the caffeine will keep me awake half the night but fruit juice will make me need to pee. I could always grab a Twinkie or a cupcake but I hate how they give you that hacking feeling in your throat unless you get something to wash it down with, and then we are back to the soda or juice quandary."

"GEESH! AAHHH!! URGGG!"

Stiles was startled by the wild antics of his werewolf as the man grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and he hopped around on the sidewalk like a nonbeliever dancing on hot coals.

Stiles poked his head out of the car and he whispered harshly, "Gosh, Derek, didn't you say we should try and not be noticed?"

Derek's face was fire engine red and little flecks of spittle spotted the corners of his mouth as he tried to get a hold of his temper. Dropping to a crouch, he gripped the window frame and he stuck his face inside the jeep.

"Buy a bottle of water, you moron. Then do exactly as I told you and I will see you at my place later." 

Stiles shrugged and couldn't figure out what had his werewolf so upset. "Yeah, sure. Water it is. I'll be there in...."

Before he could finish, Derek had hurried quickly away. Stiles sighed and pulled slowly out onto the street and turned in the direction of River Road to follow the instructions. None of it made a lot of sense, but Derek seemed adamant so Stiles complied. 

The entire trip took nearly twenty minutes simply because when he got to the Speedway, they had several brands of bottled water and Stiles was perplexed as to why the price varied to such an extreme. Why would one brand be so superior over another? Weren't they just water? After a brief confab with the clerk, he settled on ice tea.

Stiles stood in the hallway outside Derek's door and smiled as he remembered the first time he had come here. So much had happened since then. So many feelings and emotions swirled around inside him now when he thought of the werewolf. New and exciting sensations that caused him toshiver happily from his heart to his crotch. 

Derek had only stayed at the book club meeting for an hour or so, which to Stiles indicated that it wasn't what the werewolf had been seeking and now they could go back to focusing on themselves and forget all about this silly anarchy business. With that reassurance, Stiles raised his fist to knock but before knuckles could meet wood, the door was flung open and Stiles was snatched inside.

"Hey! Damn, Derek, I'm glad to see you too but...."

"Shut up and listen. They know about us. Someone has been watching and they know."

All of the calm, joy and happiness Stiles had been feeling disappeared as a cold snap washed through him, and Stiles heart pounded in terror. Discovery was a concept he preferred to keep well tucked to the back of his mind, as though denial was enough to make it so. For most men, such a revelation would turn them on their heels and cause them to run and save themselves. For Stiles, he only needed the particulars as to who the enemy was. "The IVWRC?"

Derek snorted and shook his head. "No. Worse. Peter Hale."


	17. Chapter 17

" Peter Hale, your uncle?"

For a minute, it seemed as if Derek wasn't going to answer Stiles question. Instead, the werewolf hurried around his apartment, pulling down blackout shades and jerking curtains into place to cover all of the windows. When he was sure that they could not be seen from the street below, he hurried back to where his human waited in the center of the room.

Derek latched onto Stiles hand and led the boy to the sofa where they sat side by side. "We need to talk, Stiles. About everything. You need to understand the danger we are in. I wanted you to meet me here because this is the safest place. There are no electronic bugs in here and none of the residents of this building will talk to the IRVWC."

Stiles looked into the clear green eyes of his lover and he could read the fear and resolve in them. Reaching over, Stiles locked his fingers with his werewolf's and he held on for strength and reassurance. He was torn. He knew they were in terrible trouble and he needed all the facts, but Stiles also knew those facts were the fine points that would spell the end to the best thing in his life. He scooted closer so that the full length of their legs pressed together and he asked again, "So, Peter Hale what does he know?"

Derek shook his head as he tried to assemble the jumble of thoughts and memories about the man. The complex answers to that simple question were difficult. For years, Peter had been Derek's everything. His friend, his mentor. But was all that information, and the fine points of it, necessary to their current situation? Did Stiles really need to hear the grisly details? Derek thought not, and he didn't want to make this worse for Stiles by cluttering their current mess with additional mud pies thrown in the young human's face. There was no way a human could understand a werewolf's relationship. Even Derek was befuddled by some of the things Peter had talked him into doing.

" We spent a lot of time together when I was a youngster and he showed me how to control the shift as a werewolf. Because of him, I was able to buy this building and set myself up. He knew of my grandfather's stash of gold and after we parted, I went back and took my half. Although there is still a mountain of gold left, he believes the small amount I took was gold that I stole from him."

"Is that why he is mad at you?"

Derek frowned as he considered Stiles wording. "Funny thing is that I don't think he is mad. I think there is something else going on here but I just don't know what. He has set himself up as the leader of the worldwide werewolf uprising. Maybe all he wants is to run the world. He always was a bit of a moron. Still, there was something he said about...."

"But us, Derek. How did he know about us and what is he going to do about it? Would he call the IRVWC and turn us in? Would it serve his purpose to see us prosecuted?"

This was the part that Derek really dreaded. He hated to hurt his boy at this level but it was critical that Stiles clearly see all parts of this in order to understand what they needed to do. In comfort, Derek squeezed Stiles hand and he leaned in and kissed the boy softly on the lips in hope that a show of affection would soften the blow.

"Someone told him. Someone told him about us and he has put people on the streets to watch you. Think, Stiles. Who have you told about us? Who would know...?"

"No one! I didn't tell anyone. The only person that...." Stiles eyes grew huge and round as the knowledge and memory of the earlier fiasco came back to him. The possibility boiled in his stomach and Stiles physically pulled away from his werewolf. "Lydia?" The word came on a quiet, disbelieving puff of air.

"I don't know, baby. Someone told him and she is the only one who knew, but we can't jump to conclusions. Peter is dangerous. He has henchmen everywhere and radicals ready and willing to do his bidding. Maybe he had wolves watching my building and when he saw you come here for the lessons, he just guessed. I don't know. The thing is, love, in order for us to protect ourselves, we need to know. I hate that this is hurting your feelings and maybe damaging your friendship, but we have to know. If she told Peter, she might have told other people."

Stiles swallowed hard and fought back the tears that stung his eyes. He and Lydia had been friends forever. She was like his sister. His family. The idea that she would intentionally betray him and do something that would cause his arrest and imprisonment was like a knife in his heart. She had always been self-centered and narcissistic but she loved him, didn't she?

The pain in Stiles brown eyes tugged at Derek but he had to remain strong, and time was short. With a small nod of his head, Stiles released his hold on Derek's hands and he leaned back. "All right. What do you want me to do?"

Derek picked up the cell phone that laid on the coffee table and he handed it to his boy. "Call her. Tell her you are sorry about what happened this afternoon. Get her to talk and make her tell you who she saw and everyone she spoke to after she left us."

Stiles looked for a moment like he was about to beg Derek not to make him do that. The truth was the last thing he wanted from Lydia yet there was still a tiny hope that she hadn't done it. Possibly she had been true and hadn't betrayed him. Either way, Derek was right. They needed to know. With a huff of resolve, Stiles took the phone and he dialed. It rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Lydia?"

"Stiles! Oh God. I was afraid you would be mad at me. I'm sorry about everything that happened today. I should have knocked. I shouldn't have told Trevor to go there. I hate the thought of you letting that disgusting creature touch you but I could forgive you for that because you are still my friend. I'm so glad you called me to apologize. I'm glad you understood that...."

Stiles held his tongue. He wanted to shout at her that Derek was NOT a disgusting creature but a kind and wonderful man, but the fact was, Stiles knew that all the protests in the world would never change her mind or cure her of the fatal disease of chronic prejudice.

Stiles grip on the phone tightened and his jaw flexed in fury but Derek, who could clearly hear Lydia's voice, placed a loving hand on his boy's arm. Stiles stopped listening to the ugly words of hate and he focused instead on the loving eyes and the sweet face of encouragement. It brought Stiles back to reality. It reminded him of what was real and what was not and it refocused him on the reason for this call. He took a deep breath and he cut her off.

"Lydia. Stop babbling. Look, we both screwed up today but we have been friends too long to let that come between us. Let's just pretend that it never happened. Okay?"

"YES! Yes, that's exactly what we should do. You aren't going to ever see him again are you? No, stop. You don't need to answer that. I know you won't and you are right. We should never speak ofhim again."

Stiles held the phone at arms length and he flipped his middle finger at it before answering in a calm, cheerful voice. "Tick a lock. My lips are sealed and I will never mention it again. So, tell me what you did today. Did you go shopping? Did you buy that designer purse that you were looking at in Dillard's window?"

Derek grinned as he mouthed 'A purse?' Stiles just shrugged. There was always a purse or a pair of shoes that she wanted to buy.

Lydia squealed with delight. Everything was back to normal. They were back on track and the proof of it was that they were settled on Lydia's favorite subject. Lydia. She was even pleasantly surprised that Stiles knew about the Gucci bag. She didn't think she had mentioned it to him but obviously she had.

"Oh, Stiles, it is magnificent!! I told Daddy but you know how unreasonable he can be. The credit cards he gave me are all maxed out until he pays them off so I told him I needed a few thousand to buy it. He is still grumbling but I think he will give it up tomorrow. I know you are dying to see it. It is brown and...."

"Yeah, Lydia, I can't wait. So what else did you do? Did you...?" Derek could see that Stiles was about to overplay his hand and the werewolf shook his head. Stiles nodded his understanding and he tried another tact. "So what did you have for lunch? Did you go to that vegan place down on Tenth?"

The question of lunch brought back the thrilling memory of the man she had met and she was delighted to share with her pseudo-girlfriend. "Oh, Stiles, no, I went down to the cafe on Third. I was still a bit upset over...'the subject'...and I couldn't even think of eating. Besides, I got on the scale this morning and I was up a half a pound so I figure I shouldn't eat for a day or two. So there I was, crying into my coffee, and this handsome older guy comes over and asks me what's wrong. He was rugged and...."

"What did you talk about, Lydia?"

"What? Oh, to tell you the truth, I don't remember but that isn't important. What matters is that I think he really likes me. He asked me for my number and I'm sure he is going to call."

Stiles just shook his head and he knew with unquestioned certainty that Lydia had told the stranger everything. "What was his name Lydia? What do you know about him?"

Assuming that her friend was only looking out for her safety and well-being, Lydia reassured Stiles that she was in no danger. "He is not some threatening pervert. He is respectable. He is decent. I know because he was wearing Bruno shoes. He said his name was Chris Argent and...."

Stiles looked to Derek to see if the werewolf recognized the name, but Derek just shrugged and shook his head while Lydia continued, "...he said he has a good government job and you know that is code for fat paycheck."

Stiles squeezed his eyes shut against the slam of revelation. When he was able to speak without his voice giving him away, he asked her for clarification. "Was it the IRVWC? Is that who he works for?"

Lydia tried to remember, but at the time his job seemed so much less important than the fact that he shared her interest in rock music and he admired her nail polish color. Besides, once he said he had a real thing for redheads , her mind blanked out. "I really don't know, Stiles. What does it matter?"

Stiles blinked in disbelief. "What does it matter? Lydia, if you told him about my involvement with a werewolf and especially if he works for the IRVWC, he could...."

"Oh for pete's sake, Stiles, why is it always about you? Chris only cares about ME. He isn't interested in the sick, disgusting things you do with that vile, nasty creature. Yeah, yeah, I know. Tick a fucking lock but he only cared about me being upset. That was the only reason he asked. He just...."

Stiles hand fell from his ear and the phone tumbled to the floor as he covered his face. It was true. Either by mistake or the unconscious need to have her own way, Lydia had been the one to betray him. It broke his heart and, in turn, hurt Derek too. Reaching down, Derek quietly closed the phone, cutting off the repeated shouts of "Stiles? Stiles, you there?" and he wrapped the boy in his arms.

"I'm sorry, baby. If it helps, I don't think she did it maliciously."

Stiles pulled back and Derek was surprised to see that instead of tears, Stiles had only steely resolve in his dark, flashing eyes. "It doesn't matter why she did it. The fact is, she did. She turned us in to a member of the IRVWC and now we are in danger from both sides of the fence. We have to figure out what happens next, Derek. We can't take this lying down."

Derek stood up and held his hand out for his lover, who took it without hesitation. "Good on you, Baby. come on. First we will have a drink and then we will decide how best to protect ourselves." With that, Derek guided Stiles to the small round table in the kitchen where the boy sat as Derek took out two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He poured them each a shot, which they downed and slammed their empty glasses on the table. Derek refilled them and they were ready to talk.

The conversation, like the bottle, passed back and forth between them with the same results. It was a Pete and repeat loop that saw them arriving back at their point of departure time and time again. They tried to find a solution but their dilemmas differed. 

Stiles main concerns were that this Peter person would cause problems for Derek and that Lydia had, in effect, turned them in to the IRVWC. Derek's only fear was for Stiles. The revelation that a human had been cavorting sexually with a werewolf could mean, at the worst, imprisonment, and at the least, the ruination of Stiles business and relationships with his friends and family.

All the while they talked, they drank. For Derek, who had a werewolf's constitution, the whiskey gave him a false warmth and a pleasant buzz. For Stiles, it was a sledgehammer. He had attempted to keep up with his lover, shot for shot, and by now his brain was sloshed and his thinking fuzzy, which explained the absurdity of his next suggestion.

"I've got it! We should go to Neverland. You know, that old ranch that Michael Jackson used to own. We could hide out there. I read somewhere that it is abandoned and we could live under the Ferris wheel." Stiles grinned at the brilliance of his revelation and he waited for the praise to rain down upon him.

Derek blinked and looked at his boy. The human's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bloodshot and Derek was ashamed that even in the face of all this danger, all he could see was how adorable his boy was. With a chuckle, Derek rose from the table and he held out his hand.

"Come on, Stiles. You're drunk. I had forgotten how little a human could drink. We are safe here for now, so why don't you lie down and sleep it off. I need to make some phone calls and want to organize my thoughts on paper. You can use my bed."

Stiles scooted his chair back, scraping it over the hardwood floor, which caused Derek to flinch. He then helped his boy stagger to his feet and all but dragged him towards the bedroom while Stiles threw his head back and sang loudly, "Show me the way to go home. I'm tired and I want to go to bed. I had a little drink about an hour ago and it went straight to my head."

Derek winced at his boy's loud, off-key caterwauling. As soon as they made it to the bedroom, he all but picked the boy up and tossed him onto the large king-sized bed. Once prone, Stiles grabbed his werewolf by the wrist and he tugged. "Please, Derek, don't leave me alone in here. Just lay down with me for a few moments. Talk to me. I need to hear your voice. Pleeeease."

Derek sighed at the pitiful boy. The room was dim and quiet and the truth was, Derek too was exhausted from the stressful long day. He was well aware that after tonight their lives would change drastically and this might be the last time they could lie together in silence and privacy. With a melancholy smile, Derek scooted the boy over and he slid in beside him.

Stiles sighed happily as Derek carded his fingers through his human's thick, dark hair. 

"Fine. What do you want me to talk about?"

Stiles scooted over so that he lay prone beside where Derek sat up in the bed. "Tell me about your travels."

Derek gave that a lot of thought. He didn't want to make Stiles jealous but it really was a wonderful time. "It was amazing, baby. Peter and I spent time traveling the world but we headed for the Swiss Alps where.... What are you doing, baby?"

Stiles paused in his task of unzipping Derek's tight black jeans. "I'm just making you more comfortable. Keep talking. I'm really enjoying the story."

"Oh, thank you, love. That is less confining. So, where was I?"

Stiles fingers gave a quick flick and the waistband button popped open on the werewolf's pants. "I think you were in the Alps."

Derek squiggled around a bit and rested against the bed's headboard. His legs were stretched out and his feet were crossed at the ankles. He smiled in the darkness as his mind recalled the memories of the good years. "Yes, the Alps. Well, for the forests and game the Alps were ..... We soon found out that...um,Stiles, baby, what...?"

Stiles had reached into Derek's open jeans and pulled out the fat, fleshy, flaccid dick, allowing it to rest in the open air. "Shhh. Don't pay any attention to me, Derek. I just wanted to look at it. It's so beautiful. All pink and thick. Go ahead and keep talking."

Derek was beginning to get an inkling of what was going on and apparently his boy was not as drunk or sleepy as he had appeared. So with a smile on his lips and a song in his heart, Derek picked up his story where he had left off as his Stiles continued with his mission.

So we.... Oh God, baby, yes."

The moment the hot, wet, human tongue lapped at his soft flesh, a tingle shot through Derek and the blood in his body began to flow through his veins toward his cock and balls. He uncrossed his feet and spread his legs. His right hand reached down and gripped his growing cock while his left hand cupped the back of his boy's head. 

To Stiles, it smelled like warm buns in the oven which struck him as odd and firm to the touch. It was masculine and musky and tasted like sweat tinged with a coppery, sour tang. His tongue was tickled by the fine, curly hairs on Derek's ball-sac and he licked at them till they were wet and stuck to the werewolf's nuts.

It was erotic and made Stiles alcohol-soaked brain swim and his own dick harden in his pants where, inconveniently, he couldn't get to it without releasing the meat from his mouth. And that was imply not doable. 

Still following the script, Derek again continued with his story while Stiles snuffled at the werewolf's crotch. "Um, oh yeah. ...oh, damn, yes. Um, freight train. Yes. So we disembarked and we snuck to the train station platform where the elite were waiting for coaches and taxis to take them to the Mountain...oh! Um, Mountain View Lodge."

Derek's concentration was wavering and faltering as Stiles did his best. The werewolf's cock was fully erect and almost impossible to fit in Stiles open mouth, but he certainly did his best. He wrapped his hot, puffy lips around the head and slid as much of the shaft in as possible while his tongued toyed with the slit at the head.

"Oh, fuck. That's lovely, just lovely." Derek spread his legs. His jeans were open and tugged low around his hips. Stiles still lay alongside and his face was buried deep in the werewolf's crotch. "Where was I?"

Stiles released the fleshy tube from his mouth and allowed it to slap wetly against Derek's belly. "You were on the train platform waiting for a cab." 

"Cab? Oh, yes." Derek interlocked his fingers behind his head and he closed his eyes as his boy's tongue scooped up the hard erection and slurped it back for a resumption of its sucking. As he did, Stiles seemed to find his rhythm. His head bobbed up and down as the suction of his mouth held and pulled on the cock that was sliding in and out. In and out. Every once in a while, Stiles tongue would suck or lick at the slit that was now oozing a clear, pearly, promise of things to cum.

The fluid was sticky and Stiles rolled it around in his mouth, allowing all of his taste buds the chance to enjoy it to the fullest before it was swallowed and the dick again sucked back in.

As for Derek, his story was all but forgotten despite his repeated attempts at resumption with random words and phrases that made no sense and fell on deaf ears. Stiles own cock was rock hard, although it understood that if it was to have any relief, it would be by hand at a later time. All focus right now was on mouth and cock. It was a human tending to his werewolf. It was natural selection and the dominant male getting his rocks off on the tongue of his submissive. It suited both men well. 

But then, the sucking stopped and Stiles frowned. He needed the voice. Derek's words had melted into grunts and groans that could have been anyone, his werewolf was a man of the world with mysterious travels and a dark past.

"More. Please Derek. Tell me more. What did you do to those people? To the rich people in the secluded mountains?"

Derek glanced down. His eyes could see as clearly as if the lights were brightly lit in the bedroom of his apartment, and he could see the saliva dripping from his hard shaft and running in connective strings to the boy's mouth. He could see the brown eyes that were nearly black and filled with lust and hunger as they looked up at him. It was everything he had craved for years, and even better. It was his. His boy. His very own human. 

Derek growled low in his chest and Stiles could feel the vibration of it. It was exciting. It was frightening and, combined with the glint from the red eyes that now stared back at him, it was the most erotic thing he had ever known. Suddenly the words started again and Derek knew what he wanted to say.

"You want to know what I did to them?"

The ominous tone in the werewolve's voice sent a shudder of delight through Stiles body. "Uh huh." He then scooted even closer and he slid his hand inside the opening of the pants so that he could play with Derek's balls as he resumed his sucking. He rested his cheek on Derek's belly and he again filled his mouth with the rigid erection as Derek's voice echoed in the silent room. This time his story was no travelogue or history lesson. This was a tale of dark terror and pleasurable pain. It may not have been factual but it was what both men wanted to hear.

"When we arrived, the humans were clustered against the cold wind as they waited for transportation to the lodges. We mingled among them and picked the weak from the strong. We made note of the ones who were traveling alone. We spoke to the young couples who eyed us as potential partners in sexual games of perversion. The very day we arrived at the lodge, a massive storm snowed us in. It was too deep to ski. It was too cold to hunt. The humans were trapped like tiny rabbits in our lair. It was a rampage of biting and sex."

Stiles moaned and the vibration of it skittered through Derek's cock and tickled in his balls. He paused for a moment as his hips arched upwards, causing his boy to gag and choke. It was a sound Derek loved, so he did it again.

" We fucked them. The men and women alike till they begged us to stop yet crawled to us for more. We plunged our fangs in their necks as we rammed our cocks into every opening of their bodies."

Stiles groaned and rocked as he sucked. He humped Derek's leg as the mental picture of the rampage splashed his brain in reds and blacks. His own cock was pressed painfully against the fly of his jeans and he new that any moment now he would cream himself without the need of a hand.

Stiles choked as he tried to picture what those things could possibly be. In reality, he knew the details and precise facts were nothing he wanted to hear and he threw himself back into his task with renewed vigor that disregarded his aching jaw.

Suddenly, the familiar tingle began in Derek's crotch and he almost regretfully recognized that this wonderful blow job was about to cum to an explosive end. With that understanding, Derek sighed and gave himself over to the sensations of his body along with the vivid memories of his brain. Within minutes, his hips began arching and the cock in Stiles mouth grew longer and fatter. "I'm cumming. Oh, Christ, Stiles, can you feel it? I'm cumming."

Before the human had the chance to pull his face back, the huge cock gave one violent jerk and spurted. The thick fluid that filled Stiles mouth was swallowed and quickly replenished as the dick between his lips pulsed and pumped more and more cool, sour semen onto his tongue.

Stiles relaxed his throat. He curled his body up as his own orgasm spilled into his jeans and the warm flush of euphoria soaked through him. Together, both men rode out their release and floated on the pleasure that accompanied it. 

They were spent. They were sticky, stinky and exhausted, but neither had the strength or interest in cleaning up. Together they curled up on the big bed in Derek's bedroom and they drifted off towards sleep.

Suddenly, just as slumber was about to overtake him, Derek shot up in bed. His eyes were wide open and his mind clear as a bell. "HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!"_


	18. Chapter 18

Derek's exclamation jolted Stiles wide awake and caused him to scrunch to the far side of the bed. Having never slept with a werewolf, he wasn't sure if they suddenly woke up hungry or possibly psychotic. "What? Jesus, Derek, what is it?"

Derek leapt out of the bed and he immediately began pacing back and forth at the foot. His hands were locked behind his back while his naked, flaccid cock hung out of his open pants, swaying and slapping him on the legs as he moved. Stiles licked his lips and watched as the lovely man-meat flipped and flopped.

Immediately, Derek stopped and he snapped his fingers in Stiles face. "Hey, sex-fiend, pay attention. I'm having a revelation here."

Stiles blinked and blushed. "Oh, sorry. Of course. So what's the what, my fangy friend?"

Quickly, Derek sat down on the edge of the bed and he faced Stiles, hoping his human would get the importance of what he was about to explain. "Listen, Stiles, when I talked to Peter this afternoon, something about his wording didn't sound just right. He spoke of searching for dissidents as if he were not one of them. He said that 'HE' was organizing the hunt for rebels but then he said that 'WE are too close.' If Peter is in charge of this mess, who is the 'we' he was referencing?"

Stiles yawned and scrunched his face up in confusion. He was still sleepy and to be honest, he simply did not see how the casual use of a pronoun could cause such a ruckus. "I don't know. Maybe he has a mouse in his pants. Is it really important, Derek? He was probably just talking about the minions that he has traveling with him to shine his shoes and wipe his butt."

Derek violently shook his head as his need to make the boy understand continued. "No! I mean, yeah, his dick is the size of a mouse but that isn't the point. Peter never would have included his pack as part of his mission. He always considered pack as nobodies. The only ones Peter ever referred to like that were humans. I think Peter is saying he has been in cahoots with humans but that isn't the real red flag."

Stiles was finally picking up on the importance of what Derek was saying and the need for sleep was retreating. "What else did he say?"

Derek sat back as the shock and awe of what he knew washed over him. It was almost too outrageous. It was so incredible that he feared actually putting it into words. But there it was. There was no other way to interpret it. "Just before I left his office, he said that this revolution would be the greatest thing since the outing in San Francisco years ago."

Derek waited, but clearly the light bulb over Stiles head was not snapping on, so with a sigh of disgust, Derek rolled his eyes and he spelled it out for him. "Stiles. I know for a fact that Peter was living in California at that time and the point is, NO ONE knew exactly who or where the first of the great outing began. It just was. Come to think of it, the initial rumblings began in Washington by the government who announced that there really were werewolves and vamps in the world and that humans must protect themselves. So the point is, if knew where and when the outing ccurred, and if he was there at the time...."

*Ding* The long-awaited overhead light at last snapped on and Stiles face lit up with cognitive illumination. "...Peter started it! Peter Hale started the great outing! Holy shit!" Gradually, the light dimmed and confusion again darkened his features. "But why? Why would he do that? You talk about him as if he is no idiot, and you said yourself that revealing yourselves was the biggest blunder in werewolf history. So why did he do it?"

Derek nodded and took both of Stiles hands in his. "I've been thinking about that too. When Peter showed me all the gold that was hidden in that cave in the Alps, he had taken very little of it. I don't think he needs it. I think he is getting funding from another source. Besides that, money was always secondary to Peter. His real joy and pleasure came from power. I know this sounds crazy but I think that Peter is working for the humans. I think he caused the great outing in order to give the humans an economic boost, a population of cheap slave labor and to control the werewolves who were already walking the earth. Besides that, a common enemy brought kings and presidents from all over the world together. They set aside their differences and wars and joined in the common denominator. It was a win-win for both sides. Peter and the humans."

Stiles jerked his hands away from his werewolf. Two and two were finally equaling four and Stiles mouth gaped open. "Are you suggesting that Peter Hale is working for the IVWRC?"

Derek jumped to his feet and he wrapped his arms around the heavy round post of his four poster bed. "I am more than suggesting it. I am certain of it. In fact, I would bet that he is in the center of it."

Stiles pulled himself up onto his knees on the bed and he shuffled down to where Derek stood. "But why? What is he up to now?"

Derek turned away from the bed and his lover and he slowly walked the length of the room and back while he organized his thoughts and tried them out to see if they fit. When he was certain they did, he answered. "I think he is still doing their bidding. He said himself that there are pockets of dissidents organizing all over the world and I think Peter and the IVWRC are planning some sort of mass extinction. They are going to squelch this stand for werewolf rights by identifying and eliminating the troublemakers. We have to do something, Stiles. I have to do something or there is going to be a werewolf slaughter that will rival the genocide of the Third World countries in the twentieth century." 

Stiles hopped down. He wanted to run to his werewolf but he held back. When he spoke, his voice was no more than a whisper. "No, Derek. You can't put yourself out there like that. You will be a moving target. Both sides, the IVWRC and the werewolves, will have a bull's-eye painted on you. Please. Isn't there somewhere we can go together and just live in peace?"

Derek smiled sadly and cupped his boy's face in his hands. He gently kissed the warm, soft lips and he drew the hot, living body into his cold arms. "There is nowhere in this world that is safe, Stiles, unless civilization changes its mind and prejudices about werewolves. A movement has started. A wave of protest and revelation is about to cover the earth like the great flood of Noah and each one of us will have to pick a side. It is inevitable. It isn't for us to hide from and it isn't for Peter and the IVWRC to stop. Time and tide must take their course. Do you understand what I am saying, Stiles?"

Stiles held on tightly, hoping to keep the werewolf safe in his arms forever. "You're going after Peter, aren't you?"

Derek eased back so that they would be face-to-face and there would be no misunderstanding. "Yes. I have to, Stiles. I love you but I have to do this. I have to...."

"NO. No you don't, Derek. You said you loved me and that you would always be there for me. You made me promises and now you are going to get yourself killed and leave me all alone. You are an ass and a liar. Hell, for all I know you are just trying to get rid of me so that you can go back to your beloved Peter! Is that why you wouldn't bite me? Were you too embarrassed to have your mark on me? Well, fuck you. If Peter is what you want, then go to him!"

Immediately Stiles began jerking on his shoes and had to stop when he realized they were on the wrong feet. He switched them while Derek spouted his protests, and in a short time, Stiles was stomping towards the front door with Derek hot on his heels. 

"Don't do this, Stiles. Don't walk out on me. It isn't Peter that I want. It's you. You want bit? Cool. No problem. Give me some flesh and I'll bite the hell out of you."

Stiles stuck his chin in the air and huffed as he covered the side of his neck with his hand."No. I no longer wish to be chomped on, thank you very much."

Derek's face scrunched up in an expression of annoyance. "You are acting like a child, Stiles. Now get over here and let me bite you."

Stiles grabbed the doorknob and he jerked the door open. "Check your fangs at the door, mister. You said we all had to pick a side and you have clearly picked yours. Call me when you have come to your senses."

"Stiles! Don't you walk out that...."

But he was already gone and Derek was alone. Part of him wanted to run after the spoiled brat of a human and drag him back. He wanted to bite and mark the boy as his property and he knew Stiles wanted that too, but it was better that Stiles was out of this. This was a werewolf crisis and too dangerous for a human to be involved in. If all went well, maybe later.... Possibly together.... Derek wouldn't even allow himself to finish the thought. He had other concerns and time was critical.

Immediately, he spun on his heels and he rushed to his computer. As he passed the coffee table, he snatched up his cell phone and he flipped it open. With one hand he dialed and with the other he logged on.

"Hullo?"

"Finstock? Hey, it's Derek. Get your ass over here NOW!"

"Now? Damn, buddy. Tonight is stewardess night and Pinky is about to serve me in first class. How about if I...."

"Use lube, Finstock! Oil that fucking thing up and jerk it off as fast as you can. I need you over here."

"Yeah, sure Derek, if it is that important I can.....oh, damn, fuck! Whew. Okay, pal, I'm on my way."

Stiles was fuming. He was furious and disappointed, but not at Derek. Stiles was mad at himself. He had bailed. He had walked out at the very time that his lover needed him the most. He should have been supportive and strong as he stood next to the man who he felt such a connection to, but instead he had whined and stomped like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

He had gone down the front steps and out onto the street before hesitation slowed his pace. The night was dark, as a cover of clouds concealed the moon and stars. There were no functioning street lamps in this area due to government budget cuts and the belief that werewolf neighborhoods did not need artificial light for the residents to see. It was gloomy. It was eerie. Yet when he reached his car, he did not get in.

"Damn it, Derek." Stiles grumbled and cursed as he kicked the front tire petulantly. He just couldn't leave things like this. He didn't want their last time together ending in an ugly argument. Maybe there was another way Stiles could talk some sense into the werewolf. Maybe not. But either way, Stiles just wanted to stay and he didn't mind eating a little crow.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

Stepping out of the darkness, a stranger imposed himself between Stiles and his werewolf's building, and instinctively Stiles took a step backwards, stopping only when his butt bumped his car. He stared at the man who had approached him. The lack of visibility made it hard to discern complexions, movement of chest and any other indicators that would answer the big question of whether this was a human, vampire or werewolf.

When no response was forthcoming, the stranger reiterated. "I'm asking you who you are and why you are here."

Automatically responding to the authority in the man's voice, Stiles straightened up and he took on a false tone of self-confidence. "My name is Stiles Stilinski and I'm here on business, so if you don't want any trouble, you will get out of my way."

The stranger barked out a laugh that sent cold chills down Stiles spine. "I'm a human, Mr. Stilinski, so your snotty, arrogant attitude is wasted on me. Here on business, huh? Well the fact is, Mr. Stilinski, I know exactly what sort of business you and the werewolf, Derek, are up to, and frankly I think you are one sick fuck. Of course that is just my opinion and all that really matters is the law. I'm sure you know that sex with a werewolf is forbidden. Don't you, Stiles?"

Stiles had, had enough and as his eyes darted around for an escape route, he began to ease around toward the driver's side of his car. "Who the fuck are you and what do you want?"

It was so dark that Stiles barely saw the stranger reach into his jacket breast pocket, but there was no mistaking the light of a passing car's headlight as it glinted off the metal badge he held up.

"My name is Chris Argent of the IVWRC and you, Mr. Stilinski, are under arrest."

In anticipation of Bobby's arrival, Derek had left his front door ajar while he gave his full concentration to the web sites he was bringing up on his computer. He was through pussy-footing around, and it was time to call in the troops. If indeed there were any to call. 

Beginning with the first dating site he had used, Derek was done testing the waters and writing in code. If what he was about to do cost him his life...so be it. At least he would have made himself known and hopefully started a wave that would wash over the traitor, Peter, and drown him in his own betrayal. 

Derek's profile was altered from a hunt for horny wolves to a political statement. It was a call to arms that spoke to any and all werewolves who were ready to stand up and organize for the greater good. It was a declaration of independence. It was the demand for an emancipation proclamation.

"Derek! Hey, you here?"

"In here, Finstock."

Following the direction and the instruction of the voice, Bobby slipped in and closed the door behind him. As he shuffled quickly through, he glanced around to see if there were any small items that might accidentally find their way into his pocket. His fingers twitched and flicked about, scooping up a pack of expensive cigars, a small silver lighter and a curious paperweight that had a bug frozen in it. Fear, conscience and common sense kept him from swiping anything of real value. 

As expected, he found Derek huddled over the computer. "Okay, so I'm here. What's so important that you needed the Finstock-man tout de suite?"

Derek glanced up before returning his focus to what he had posted. "Check this out, Finstock and tell me what you think." 

"ATTENTION, all werewolves. Men, women and children who remember our lives before the great outing. It is time to stand up. We are not dirt under the feet of the humans. We are beings who walked the earth and embraced our lupine transformation. We do not seek world domination. We seek equality and the fair representation that is afforded all people living under the codes of a democracy. We are the new pursuers of civil rights, and in the spirit of those who have gone before us we too must march on the government capitals. We must not back down. Watch this site tomorrow for the time and place of our first protest and join us. The time has come for us to be as one."

Bobby Finstock stood back from the computer as if the small physical space he had taken between him and the dangerous anarchist would ensure some semblance of protection. "Holy cheese and weenie sandwich, Derek. You can't post that. The IVWRC would be busting down your door before daylight and you would never have the chance to organize anything."

Derek scooted back on his chair. His eyes twinkled dangerously and Bobby could read the determination in his friend's face. "I already considered that. Look, I took down my picture and any reference of identification. Sure, they can find me but not quickly enough to stop this. I am going to post on as many werewolf sites as I can find, and hopefully the word will spread. Tomorrow morning I will give the areas of convergence as the Governor's mansions in every state of the United States. There will also be coordinated efforts in the capitals of all the countries of Europe. We need to check time zones in order to ensure that everything comes off simultaneously."

Bobby Finstock tipped his head slightly as he considered that. "Kind of like a flash mob dance of protest?"

Derek laughed. "That's it exactly!" His humor quickly died as he thought of Stiles. In Derek's heart, he had planned that Stiles would be at his side when all of this went down. If Derek was to meet his final death, he had hoped that Stiles would be standing with him, sharing his determination and political position. 

Bobby watched the shift in Derek's expression, and he wondered what it was all about but dared not ask. Instead he switched the conversation to a more personal concern. "What do you want me to do? I want to help but gee, Derek, I'm a simple vamp. I'm not a warrior or a soldier. I'm sorry but...."

Derek placed a hand on Bobby's arm that told the unkempt vamp that he would not ask more of the Finstock than he could provide. "It's all right, Bobby. I'm not asking you to bear arms or lunge forward with a sword raised and a shout on your lips. I need you for a quiet but a valuable contribution to our cause. I need you to do one thing if for some reason I'm not around to do it."

The implication of what Derek was insinuating caused Bobby to gasp and shake his head violently. "No, damn, Derek you ain't gonna do something that is gonna cause you to get snatched up by the IVWRC are you?"

Derek chuckled as he tried to put Finstock at ease. "Nah. At least I hope not. Anyway, what sort of leader would I be if I set all of this up and then wasn't there to see it through. But we have to be realistic. Shit happens, and if this goes belly up I just might be the goldfish while the humans have their hands on the flusher. If that occurs, I want you to add just one more posting. Do it from this computer then leave the apartment immediately. They won't trace anything back to you. I will leave a written statement that you must copy exactly. It will document my struggle and final death in the name of the cause and it will point to Peter Hale as the perpetrator of all this that we have suffered. Can you do that for me, Bobby?"

Bobby's eyes darted curiously toward the hallway off the main room and he paused in his agreement. Before he gave his promise to do this wretched thing, there was something he wanted to understand. "What about Stiles...Mr. Stilinski? How does he feel about all of this? Shouldn't he be out here and listening to everything you have planned? As a human, he could be helpful if...."

Derek scowled and he turned away. "No, Stiles won't be any part of this. He has decided that, somehow, my past relationship with Peter Hale is coloring my need to be involved in this. I tried to talk to him but...."

Bobby Finstock was confused. More so than usual, as his eyes again darted toward the hallway and back to Derek. "Do you want I should go talk to him? Me and Stiles has us a relationship. We has bonded over my need for Pinky."

Derek frowned and followed Bobby's gaze. "Stiles isn't here. Why would you think he was here?"

Bobby scratched his head. "He ain't? I just figured he was in the bedroom sleeping. When I came over here, I parked in the back by the alley and his jeep is still down there. I just thought...."

"Holy fucking hell!" Derek leapt to his feet and charged out of the apartment. Bypassing the leisurely, molasses speed of the elevator, Derek sprinted down the flights of stairs where he slapped his palm against the door and rushed out and into the night. It took less than three seconds for his Wolf's eyesight to spot the blue jeep that was concealed by the foliage and the darkness.

When he ran to it, he saw the slip of paper tucked beneath the wiper blade and he snatched it loose just as Bobby finally caught up. "What is it? What does it say? Where is Stiles? What's happening, Derek?"

Derek stared at the scrawled handwriting. He sniffed the paper and smelled the sour stench of human perspiration. Derek's stomach clenched and a shudder of hate and fear wracked his body as he considered all the dangers and tortures his boy might be enduring. Because of him. Because of Derek's political views and activities, his boy's life was in jeopardy.

"What does it say, Derek? Where is Stiles?"

Derek balled the paper up in his fist and he stared into the pitch black night. "It says that he has been taken and will not be released until I post an endorsement of Peter as the undisputed leader of the Resurrections' movement."

"What? Taken? By who? Why? How? When? Where?"

As Bobby continued to run the gamut of singular queries, Derek grabbed him by the arm and jerked the babbling vampire back towards the building. "Come on. We can't talk here. We need to get back upstairs to figure out what to do next."

"But who is he, Derek? Who the fuck is Peter?"

Within minutes, they were safely ensconced back in the apartment where Derek began pacing while Bobby gasped for unneeded breath from the overexertion of stair running. Bent over at the waist, Bobby rested his palms on his stubby knees while sucking air and waiting for some profound explanation and revelation to come from Derek's mouth. It didn't take long.

"Peter, or Peter Hale, is the werewolf who outed us years ago. We all believed whoever did it was doing it for power and control of the human population. We thought it was just a stupid werewolf who thought we could take over the world like you see in all of those futuristic movies. And maybe we could have, but that was never the intended result. The outing was a collaborative effort by Peter and a group of humans who did it to get rich. And they have. In other words, he sold us down the river. But as always happens when a segment of society lives for too long under an unjust oppression, a simmering pot of anarchy is beginning to boil. A massive, worldwide uprising is coming to demand our rights and end the legal segregation of werewolves."

Bobby's mouth hung open and his brain scrambled to put all the pieces into place. This was murky territory for a werewolf who lived his unlife in the shadows and maintained an elevation that flew under the radar. Ordinarily, Bobby would have discreetly slithered towards the door, where he would sneak off into the night and back to his own place and his life resumed, but this time something stopped him. 

It was an odd sensation that stirred within him. Perhaps it was because it was Stiles Stilinski, a human that had always treated Bobby with respect. Maybe it was the fear of appearing cowardly in the sparkling eyes of his beloved Pinky. Whatever the reason, surprising even Bobby himself, he was making no moves to escape. 

Who was it that said 'Within every man there lives the need to stand up and be counted'? In the end, it didn't matter who coined the phrase because today was Bobby Toot's day and he would count.

"What was the note? What did it say?"

Derek didn't need to look again at the paper that he held in his fist. He already knew it by heart. "It says that Stiles is being held in an undisclosed location. I am supposed to send a confidential e-mail to an address and advise them of the times and places for the protests."

Bobby wasn't sure what that meant. "Why, Derek? What does...?"

"It is so that they can have an army of humans standing by. The minute our werewolves and vamps show up for a peaceful march and protest, there will be guns spraying silver bullets, fire hoses of holy water, wolfs bane and blowtorches to burn us to the ground. The implication is that if I turn traitor and rat on the plan, they will release Stiles unharmed. If I don't...."

The cold blood in Bobby's veins turned to ice. "You tell me what to do, Derek. We can't let them bastards hurt Mr. Stiles."

Bobby Finstock wasn't much but Derek was overwhelmed with relief at not being totally alone. He threw his arm around the man and he squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks, Finstock. You're a prince. Okay, time is short. Here's what we are going to do. I have a pretty good idea where they are holding Stiles and I need to go there. You stay here. All night if you need to. Do you know any of the vampires that Stiles helped with his integration services?"

Bobby sat down on the sofa and he scrunched his face up unattractively as he tried to remember. Oftentimes, when he would call Stiles to come and assist him, Stiles would say that he was on his way to or returning from an appointment. As Bobby strained, certain bits and pieces of conversation began to gel. "Yeah. Sure. I know that Peggy down at the whorehouse is one of his clients and I think I can come up with three or four more."

"Great!" Derek pulled on his shoes and he headed for the door. "You call all of them and tell them what is happening. Tell them that Stiles is in trouble. If I don't get back by morning, you send out that post and whatever you do, DO NOT use that e-mail address."

Bobby jumped to his feet. "What are you going to do?"

Derek's steely green eyes shifted to red and back again. "I'm going to get Stiles."


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles stumbled over his own feet as he tried to keep himself upright and balanced. His hands were bound behind his back, he had a piece of duct tape over his mouth and a kerchief was tied over his eyes as he was dragged quickly along. After being snatched off the street, he had been tossed in a rough and undignified manner into the back seat of a big black sedan and booted onto the floor.

As the car sped away, his captor sat silently beside him and ignored all of Stiles muffled pleas and nonstop squirming. Although Stiles had nothing to gauge it against, this didn't seem like a normal arrest. Why had no formal charges been read? Why hadn't he been given his rights? What station house was he being taken to? Even the fact that there was no banter or chatter between driver and arresting officer signaled a dangerous impropriety.

In a short while, the car pulled to a halt. When the engine fell silent, Chris Argent growled a warning to behave and Stiles was jerked out and onto his feet. The cool dampness of the night caressed his face and caused a shiver to run the length of his spine. As he tried to identify his location, the only sounds were the constant hum of the passing traffic and a random barking dog. The smell was that of an alley filled with trash cans.

There was a man on each side of Stiles, palming his elbows while hurrying him from the car into a building where a steel door whooshed shut behind him. Despite the admonition, Stiles struggled as he mumbled his fears and questions through his sealed lips. The errant behavior earned him a sharp smack to the back of his head.

As they marched him down what felt like a narrow hallway, off in the distance he could hear the strains of canned music and the raucous laughter of a group of people partying. For a brief moment, Stiles wondered if this was going to turn out to be nothing more than a surprise birthday celebration. It was an idea he immediately disregarded in the face of the fact that his birthday was still six months away and, generally, good friends didn't refer to you as a cock-sucking bitch.

Finally, they turned a corner and hustled him into a room. Another door was slammed behind him and all sound ceased. Before he could recalculate his plans for escape, he was shoved forward, causing him to lose his balance and fall painfully to his knees. Where he waited.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

"It's the human that you wanted. The one that is fucking...."

"That was a rhetorical question, you moron. I already know who he is. This is Stiles Stilinski. The human who is apparently an expert in computers and werewolf cocks."

Stiles head twisted to the side. It was hard to determine how big an area they were in and where exactly the other voice was coming from. His arms and shoulders ached from the restrictive binding at his wrists, and his knees were no doubt bruised from the hard landing. But those were surface pains and discomforts. They were inconsequential when compared to the terror-induced maladies he was suffering.

Stiles stomach was in knots. His skin was cold and his head pounded with a headache of fear that was accentuated by his inability to visually evaluate his own level of danger. Outwardly, his entirebody trembled.

"Oh, what is this? Our little bird is frightened. How cruel of you, Chris. Remove his trappings immediately so that he and I can speak like civilized men."

With that command, Stiles felt himself pounced upon and roughly manhandled. Immediately, he began to struggle and kick out against his captors. In response, he was punched and wrestled onto his stomach with a muffled "Oomph!" There, he was subdued while the plastic flex cuffs were cut from his wrists and in one fell swoop, the grey duct tape was painfully ripped, along with a layer of skin, from his face. "OUCH! Son of a bitch!"

With his hands free, Stiles tore the cloth from around his eyes and he sat up, heaving and gasping from the exertion and the horror of his kidnapping and brutal treatment. His head snapped in all directions as he tried to ascertain the measure of peril, and for once in his life, he kept his mouth shut.

The room was small, square and sparsely decorated. The hardwood floors were scuffed and worn and there were no pictures or documents on the walls. The curtains were pulled, making it impossible to look outside for any identifying landmarks or even the reassurance of the moon and stars.

There was a desk with chairs at both sides. There was a computer on the desk and a dying, potted rubber tree in the far corner. The only other things in the room with him were the two men at his sides and the muscled man standing directly in front. Stiles guessed the two men who had wrestled him here were human. Something about the other one said he lacked humanity.

The man took a step forward and Stiles swallowed hard. He scooted to a sitting position, then experimentally stood as he waited for one of his captors to knock him back off his feet. Surprisingly, no one did and Stiles felt just slightly better. It's hard to run for your life when you are down on the floor. 

"Get out!" When the man in charge threw his arms into the air and shouted his order, Stiles, for a fast moment, thought the command was for him and he spun around on his heels while relief and gratitude stopped his mouth from questioning the logic. Unfortunately, before he could take that first step, the back of his collar was latched onto and he was left flailing as Chris and the other human fled the room.

"Not you, you fucking idiot. Sit down!" The huge paw-like hand guided Stiles by the back of the neck towards the chair by the desk and then shoved him, forcing him to take a seat. Stiles glared at the man but still remained silent. Once his abductor was satisfied that Stiles fully understood the mortality of the situation, the conversation began.

"Do you know who I am, boy?"

Stiles paused while his eyes scanned up and down the joker with the dark hair and goatee. He was wearing an expensive suit that had been poorly tailored and his shoes were strictly K-Mart. "I don't know but I know that you are a werewolf and you know I am a human. That means you are in serious trouble."

Peter threw his head back and he bellowed with laughter. Apparently he had assigned way too much intelligence and credit to this imbecile. Then, just as quickly as it began, the laughter stopped and the blue, intense eyes flashed with warning. Stiles shuddered as his blood turned to ice and he gripped the arms of the chair.

"You fucking humans make me sick!" Peter spat out the words. "I am Peter Hale and before all of this is over, boy, you will be bowing down to me."

Stiles eyes grew round as saucers and the floodgates between his brain and mouth flew open wide. "Peter? Derek told me all about you. You're the one who started the great werewolf outing that turned everything upside down. You're a traitor to your own kind. You set them up to hope in the future then you sold them out."

When Stiles realized what all he had just blurted out, he snapped his lips shut and flinched as he waited for the repercussions. He was certain that his statements would earn him the thrill of having his head ripped from his shoulders but, much to Stiles amazement, Peter just grinned as he strolled casually around his desk and he took a seat in the plush leather captain's chair.

Once seated across from his prisoner, Peter smiled as he sighed happily. "A traitor? No, I prefer to see myself more as a double agent. The IVWRC think I work for them and the werewolves believe I am dedicated to their cause. In reality, Peter works for Peter. You don't have to be a landscaper to recognize where the greenest grass grows, Stiles. Take you for instance. You are human yet you have this tidy little business that makes money off the vamps and wolves. You claim to be all high and sanctimonious yet your breath reeks of werewolf cum. Derek's cum to be exact. So how does that work, Stiles. How is it that a human can be fucking a werewolf and still wears a cloak of arrogance and uppity humanity?"

Stiles frowned. "It isn't like that. You make it sound cheap and tawdry. You reduce everything to human and werewolf. It's about more than that. Derek is a man. He is thoughts and feelings nd...."

"Yeah, yeah, yadda yadda yadda." Peter waved his hand dismissively. "And you think that you have found something profound. You believe you have the patent on butt fucking with a werewolf. Well, let me tell you something, boy, the great outing may have put a dent in it but there has always been and there always will be humans and werewolves who fuck and suck and pound into each other. It just isn't done in polite society. It's bootleg. It's underground. It is done in the dark places that the light never reaches. Take Chris out there for instance. He has one sweet, hot little hole and while he thinks he is 'the one'," Peter made dramatic air quotes with his fingers, "what he doesn't know is that I am also fucking his partner and at least ten others on his squad."

Stiles could see no benefit to feeding into this no-win conversation. Instead, he wanted to get down to the meat and bones of this dog and pony show. "Fine. So you don't think much of me or humans in general. So why am I here? What do you want from me?"

Peter bobbed his head approvingly. The boy had gotten the point and it was time he understood the whole of the situation. "Why are you here? It's simple really. You, my boy, are my insurance policy. This annoying little uprising that has been simmering for some time is about to boil over, and if I want to keep my little lucrative position, I need to make sure that the werewolves are put back in their place. Oh, I know I could just monitor the sites Derek is using and my troops at the IVWRC could show up and beat them back, but this takes a bit more planning and organization. You know what they say. Prior preparation prevents piss poor performance. I need time. Time to have the maximum firepower ready so that those fools will walk right into my trap. After we end a few thousand vamps and wolves, the rest won't be so quick to make their irrational demands, and life as we know it will happily resume."

Stiles was horrified at the thought of all those werewolf men, women and children being heartlessly killed as they stood up for their rights and beliefs. He had never been a politically-minded person. He had always been one to accept life as-is and assume that the government was operating with the best of intentions. But now, he wasn't so sure. Nothing seemed as clear cut as he believed it to be and suddenly, Stiles knew that he would lay down his own life before he would do anything that would help Peter execute this travesty.

With a huff, Stiles crossed his arms over himself and he hoped his face did not reflect the fear that was in his heart. "Forget it. There is nothing you can do to me to get me to tell you when or where the uprisings will begin because I really don't know. In fact, I walked out on Derek before he could even tell me. So, Mr. Smarty Pants, you kidnapped me for nothing."

Peter slowly rose from his chair and he calmly moved like slick, hot oil around the side of the desk until he stood directly in front of where the human boy sat. Then, with an agility that a man should not have possessed, he lowered himself into a crouch that put his face just inches from Stiles.

"Don't be silly, boy. In the long run, it doesn't matter if you are a font of information or just a dry well. You are still of great value. Eventually, Derek will show up to save you and when he does, I will torture the information from him. In the meantime, I can find my pleasure in your hot body. Now what I find most interesting is that Derek has not bitten you. Why is that, boy? Weren't you good enough? Did Derek tell you that when a werewolf sinks his fangs in, it imparts a venom that creates a bond between human and wolf? Maybe that's why he wouldn't bite you. He didn't want some love-sick puppy pining after him."

When Peter saw the spark of insecurity in Stiles eyes, he hooted with laughter. "That's it, isn't it? You wanted him to bite you and he refused. Oh, how priceless. Well, don't worry boy. Before I am finished with you, you will feel my sharp fangs pierce your body while you squirm and fight the feeling of your cock begging for release. It is pleasure and pain, boy. It is heaven and hell."

Stiles closed his eyes. As Peter spoke, Stiles could feel himself falling into the deep, echoing well of oblivion. He tried to fight it but the urge and the draw were too strong and he swayed forward toward the pull of the words. Then, just as Peter was about to reach out for the boy, a new player joined the game.

"Evening, Peter. I believe you have something that belongs to me."

"Well, well, well." Peter slowly withdrew from the cringing human and he turned to face the werewolf who was standing next to the opened window. "Derek. I really can't say I'm surprised, although I don't see what the appeal is in this particular human when you could have any werewolf you wanted. Oh wait, now I remember. It never was a werewolf that you wanted to play your little sex games with, was it. Even in the old days, you always wanted a human that you could fuck and finger. Frankly, Derek, I always did suspect that you suffered from too much humanity."

Derek's eyes flickered from steely green to ruby red. "What I did in the old days doesn't matter. What I care about is that you stole from me. The boy is my property."

In a flash, Peter was at Stiles side. He grabbed a fistful of the dark, shaggy hair and he jerked Stiles head to the side for inspection. "Hmm. Funny, but I don't see any mark of ownership on him. I think that makes him fair game." In the blink of an eye, Peter's features shifted and his fangs dropped.

Immediately, Stiles began to struggle and kick his feet in a frantic attempt to escape from the insane werewolf who was just inches from the pulsing, throbbing jugular vein. His eyes locked on the werewolf who remained at the other side of the room. "No. Wait. Derek, please, don't let him...."

"Please, Derek, don't let him." Peter laughed and mocked Stiles with a whiny tone as his face and fangs retreated. He tightened his hold on the human but he turned his full attention to his adversary. "Derek, Derek, Derek. I believe what we have here is a Mexican standoff. If you try to rush me, I will have him bit and his neck snapped before you get halfway across the room, and if I kill him, you won't give me the information I want. You say that he is your property. Fine. Control of this world is MY property. Seems to me that we both have a lot to lose. So, how do we end this?"

Calmly, Derek sauntered over to where Peter held the boy in the razor's edge of life and death. He strolled in a wide circle around the drama in the center of the room as he appeared to give the question the deep consideration it deserved. "Yes, yes I can see where this is a sticky situation for all three of us, isn't it, Peter? Of course, there are a few elements that you haven't factored in that might confuse this even more."

Peter's brow furrowed into a scowl. "Other elements? Such as what?"

Derek stopped walking and he grinned. "Such as the fact that I'm not the only one with a taste for human companionship. I can smell it in the air. Apparently you not only work with the IVWRC but, from the smell of it, you are fucking half of them too."

Peter continued to frown. This new twist wasn't getting him what he wanted, and the path this conversation was taking seemed pointless and a waste of time. "So what? We are not here to discuss my sex life, Derek. We are here for one reason. We are here to squelch this fucking uprising, and I need you to tell me the where and when. You do that and I release your little fuck toy here. You refuse and I tear the skin off his face and lick it like a Tootsie Pop. Period."

To make his point, Peter tightened his grip on Stiles hair and he shook the head violently as Stiles grabbed for Peter's arms and tried to pry them loose. By now Stiles fear had ramped to irrational terror and there was a real chance that he was about to pee his pants. 

He wanted to trust Derek, but in his heart he feared that his werewolf's commitment to the cause of the Resurrectionists was his highest priority. Possibly higher than the life of one insignificant human. 

Stiles wanted to trust. He wanted to believe, but all he could do was tremble and mutter his pleas for the heartless Peter to show some mercy. "Please, Peter, don't. Please. Just let me go." For Peter, the taste in the air of Stiles terror was like honey. Thick. Syrupy and sweet. It fed and fueled his illusion of Godlike power and Derek knew that, that was Peter's weakness.

"You are right. He is just a human fuck toy but you know all about that, don't you, Peter? Aren't there any of the humans that you actually care about? Are they all just pieces of flesh for you to fuck? Tell me, Peter. . No man or woman can resist you,is that it?. Tell me now. For old times' sake."

Peter's face took on a gleeful expression of power and sexuality. His hand eased its grip on his prisoner's scalp and instead absently patted the top of Stiles head as if he were a faithful puppy. 

"They are all mine. They are here for my pleasure. Outsiders look at me as a second-class citizen, but here in my kingdom, they all do my bidding. Some nights I take a young one to my room and I break him in. Sometimes I just break him. Other nights it is an older, more experienced human who knows what I like and how I like it. They all suffer for me."

All the while Peter was speaking, Derek was slowly moving around the room. His sighs and wordless encouragement kept the older werewolf talking while Derek continued to ease past. When he reached the door to the hallway, he silently turned the knob and eked it open while Peter continued to expound on his conquests and exploits.

"Every once in a while, I use a woman. I lure her in and caress her gently before I sink my fangs into her soft, white breasts and ram my dick in her pussy. Unfortunately, the females tear and bleed so easily and then I have to have the remains discretely disposed of. Tut, tut, such a disagreeable business but so many humans disappear every day that no one ever suspects. No one ever questions me. Even the IVWRC understands that I am untouchable."

Derek continued his circumference so that now he was directly in front of his boy and the man who stood over him. He could see the open door way over Peter's shoulder and he hoped his gamble would pay off.

"And what about the men, Peter? All of the personal guards that travel with you. Are you fucking all of them? Do they know about each other? Do they let you play your little fetish games with them?"

Peter moaned as he recalled the humiliating and painful things he had done just hours earlier. 

"The dark-skinned ones are the sweetest. They guard the virginity of their asses so vigilantly all the time I am forcing them onto their knees. The Hispanics cry and the white boys are so eager to please."

"But no one resists you, do they, Peter?"

Peter sighed. By now, he was beginning to tire of this trip down memory lane and he was suspecting it to all be a stall, an evasion and an attempt to buy time. "Enough! You are starting to bore me. It is time to end this. Tell me where and when the protests are set for. I will dispatch the full force of the IVWRC and this stupid, pointless uprising will come to its inevitable end."

Peter again gripped Stiles hair and he jerked the boy's head to the side, but this time Stiles hardly noticed. Instead, he was staring with curiosity at Derek's eyes as Derek was looking intently past Peter, and Stiles could see by the expression on Derek's face that whatever held his attention was a game changer. Stiles then glanced up toward Peter's face to wait for that moment when he too would realize that something had shifted.

And it did, just seconds later, when Peter tipped his nose in the air and he sniffed. When he smelled the scent of his own spent seed on hot, human skin, he rolled his eyes and, without needing to look back, he groaned, "Chris. What the fuck do you want? I didn't send for you. I told you I could handle this on my own. Get out. Get back to your duties."

Chris stood in the open doorway where he was and he stared at the back of the werewolf to whom he had committed his life and soul. He felt sick to his stomach, and the hidden puncture wounds on his inner thigh throbbed with a never-ending craving that now left him ashamed and nauseated.

"I heard you. I was standing in the hallway and I heard what you said. I knew that sometimes you had sex with others but you told me that I was special. You said that you loved me. You said when this was all over, you would take me away on a holiday to the Alps. A honeymoon. You said I was the only one you had bitten since the outing. You said...."

The rest of Chris's statement ended on a cracked, emotional voice. There was no use in going on as he knew there was no answer that Peter could give that would make this right. All the moral compromises and all the laws Chris had broken because Peter had asked him to were for naught. It was all a lie. Chris had been a fool and a werewolf's lovesick puppet. And now he was being dismissed like the insignificant little bug that Peter considered him to be.

"Oh, for the love of ....! Chris, you are a fucking piece of meat. Nothing more. Now get the hell out of here and for God's sake wash your ass. You stink!"

Peter shook his head at the interruption to his evening. His chest and shoulders raised as he sucked in air, then he slumped as he huffed it back out in disgust. Clearly he was losing control of this entire situation and it was time he regained the upper hand. So with a grunt and an unexpected heave, Peter shouted, "AAAHHH!" as he jerked Stiles to his feet by the hair of his head. 

"Enough of this bullshit! My fangs will coax the truth from you!"

"OW!" Stiles flailed for balance while his feet scrambled for purchase. He slapped at Peter and against the sharp pain in his scalp as his hair was nearly ripped out by the roots. His feet tripped while his body twisted and turned in an attempt to get free from the iron grip. He could already feel the fetid puffs of air against his skin and Stiles knew his fate was sealed.

Once he had the boy up, Peter wrapped his arm around Stiles waist and he slammed their bodies together with Stiles back pressed against Peter's chest. Making the threat worse was the feel of Peter's hard erection poking against Stiles butt cheek.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles watched as Peter's face shifted from human to it's wolf form. The sharp fangs dropped and the tongue that flicked out against Stiles neck was rough and slick. Immediately, Stiles scream was joined by a duet of voices shouting, 

"NNOOO!!"

Derek lunged forward, but even his werewolf's speed wasn't as fast as the wolfs bane tipped arrow that Chris shot from the crossbow in his hand. The second Peter's fangs touched Stiles neck, Derek's hand met Peter's sleeve and the arrow found its mark. Peter Hale blinked in total disbelief before he gurgled, his face contorted and Stiles nearly toppled over as Peter fell and he was suddenly released.

Quickly, Derek wrapped his arms protectively around his boy choking and coughing against the soft cloud of blue vapor that drifted in the air. He petted Stiles hair and ran his hands all over his boy's body as he checked for any injuries or, God forbid, puncture wounds. When he was satisfied that Stiles was intact and unharmed, he shoved the boy behind him and he snarled as he faced off with the other human in the room.

But he needn't have worried. Chris stood silent and dumbfounded. He stared at the crumpled body that had been his whole world and he couldn't believe what he had just done. The small, deadly crossbow that was still in his hand hung limply at his side and Derek needed to make sure that Chris was not planning to use it again. "Put it down. Your fight is not with us. It's all over."

Derek's words seemed to shake Chris from his trance. He blinked the tears from his eyes and he glanced down, surprised that the weapon was still in his grip. When he felt the weight of it, he whimpered and tossed it down, cringing as though it burned his flesh. He then fell to his knees and ran his hands over body that was already turning stiff and he sobbed. "Peter. Peter. I'm sorry. I love you. I'm so sorry."

Stiles took a step towards him. He could feel the heartbreak of a human who pinned all of his hopes and dreams on a werewolf. He could not only sympathize but empathize. He couldn't imagine what he would do if he lost Derek. Stiles extended hand drifted towards Chris to offer comfort. Before he could touch him, Stiles felt himself roughly snatched back. 

"Stiles. Come on. We have to get out of here before the other guards come to investigate. There is nothing you can do for him." Reluctantly, Stiles knew Derek was right and he allowed himself to be manhandled across the room and shoved out the open window where, together, they jumped and landed with a soft thud onto the ground below.

There, Derek grabbed his boy by the hand and they took off at a dead run down the length of the smelly, garbage-strewn alley that ran adjacent to the brick building. When they reached the street, Stiles gasped for air as his heart pounded and his lungs strained from the exertion and fear. Ignoring his boy's condition, Derek pulled him around the corner and toward the large black sedan that was parked there.

Gratefully, Stiles jerked open the passenger's door and he tumbled in as Derek hit the gas and they sped away. When Stiles could gasp out the words, he scooted closer to his werewolf and asked, "Is it too late? Is there still time to post the setup for tomorrow's freedom march?"

Derek grinned and tugged his boy over on the bench seat. "It is already done. I left all the instructions with my assistant and he did it while I was busy saving you from Peter."

Stiles snuggled against Derek's side as he frowned. "You have an assistant?"

Derek chuckled. "I have better than an assistant. I have a Finstock."


	20. Chapter 20

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Anderson Cooper of CNN News. We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to report that, here in New York, there has been a massive march by a huge assembly of werewolves and vampires carrying signs and shouting chants for equality. We have also received some as of yet undocumented information from dozens of other cities around the globe of similar protests in what appears to be a well-choreographed uprising. So far, all of the protests appear organized, peaceful and the government has issued a statement saying that there was no prior warning or notification of this activity.

When the protest began at sunrise, the demand for a meeting with human authorities was their first order. At this very moment a representative of the werewolves is purported to be meeting with the Governor and the President of the United States. The President, who arrived just an hour ago on Air Force One, is said to be receiving and reviewing their list of demands. The surprising part of this is the unprecedented and unexpected number of humans who have joined in this march for werewolf and vampire civil rights. It is this human element that has prevented any retaliation against the marchers. When asked about the IVWRC's response to this revolutionary action, we have been told that the IVWRC has been disbanded due to corruption and internal impropriety at the highest level. We are hoping to receive more information regarding the nature of that corruption later today. As this situation continues to develop and unfold, we will bring updates to you."

Derek rose from his chair and shook the President's hand while the Governor waved to his aides, indicating that they would all be available for photos by the press. At Derek's right, Stiles stood proudly with his werewolf. As a human, his demand for policy reform had indicated that human and werewolf couples would be petitioning for civil union reforms to allow legal joining and inter-species mating. It was a touchy subject and one that would, no doubt, take time for total acceptance but one that could not be totally disregarded considering the vast number of human/werewolf lovers who were outing themselves in the spirit of the march.

At Derek's left was Bobby Finstock. Although his position was earned simply by his attachment to Derek, his contribution to the cause was unquestioned. Where Derek was seen, the Finstock was not far off. While just a week ago Finstock sought anonymity, he was now the one who questioned all the reporters to ensure that they carried digital cameras rather than the antiquated 35mm. Digital would capture a werewolf's image and Bobby Finstock loved to see himself in print.

As for Derek, he was surprisingly comfortable with the catapult to fame. Although somewhat late in joining the Resurrectionists' movement, he was unanimously elevated to the head position by virtue of his single-handedly bringing down the IVWRC, as well as outing his uncle as the werewolf who had altered history. Derek's organization of the peaceful march cemented him as the werewolf who would regain what years had stripped away.

Everyone on both sides of the fence knew that there was still a long way to go. Meetings and plans with committees and representatives would need to be drawn up as the ongoing negotiations of give and take were underway. 

This was more than a change that would affect just New York or even the United States. This was a worldwide shift of understanding and now, with the glue that was the IVWRC dissolved, the old disagreements and power struggles of the various nations' leaders were already beginning to resurface. 

Some things, however, would remain the same. Flow and meat shops would be maintained with the strict, reinforced understanding that biting was still illegal unless consensual. Werewolf . Vampire or human, assault and murder were not to be permitted. The biggest change was that, if arrested, werewolves and vampires would be subject to human rules of arrest and conviction and not just indiscriminate death.

A big human concern of the change was financial. Wall Street had indicated that the sudden backlash of closing the shops would cause an economic collapse of small business and a return to human poverty and unemployment levels that would rival that of the 1920s. 

All sides agreed that the multifaceted uprising was just the first step. It was a massive undertaking. There would be setbacks, heartbreaks and possibly small, unexpected victories. One thing all of the world's werewolf and vampire population accepted was the fact that part of what they had lost all those years ago may never be regained. But this was a new beginning. It was a start, and it was a hope that they hadn't felt in a long time.

As Derek and his two companions stepped outside and onto the steps of the Governor's mansion, a huge roar rose from the waiting crowd. The sun shone overhead and a warm breeze blew the scent of change in the air.

When the entourage of powerful humans and representative werewolves and vampires walked together to the makeshift podium, the waiting mob roared their approval. Supernaturals and humans alike shouted Derek's name as they craned their necks to get a look at their hero. Cameras flashed and reporters pressed inward, begging for some clue as to what the human government was willing to discuss.

Stepping forward, Derek gripped his boy firmly by the hand and Stiles stood proudly beside his lover. Bobby Finstock strutted, waved and winked as he posed for pictures that he imagined would paper the walls of his female fans and male admirers. With his hand shading the sun from his eyes, he gazed out over the sea of bodies and he wondered how many of them would be masturbating later to the image of the great Bobby Finstock.

Glancing off to the far left, Finstock recognized Peggy the whorehouse madam that he had called as part of the march organization, and he stepped over to talk with her as Derek tapped the microphone to signal he was about to speak.

A silence fell over the crowd as the handsome brunette wolf raised his hands to ask for everyone's attention. "Good afternoon. Ladies, gentlemen, humans, werewolves and vampires. We have taken a giant step today in the establishment of a new world order. We still have a long way to go, but it is important for the humans who fear us to know that we do not aspire to control you. We simply want to exist next to you. To the humans who hate us, we will no longer be controlled by you, and what we are saying to the world today is that we are people too. Families who have loved ones who have been turned may now welcome home their lost sheep without the fear of reprisal. The living , the non-living may live together in peace. The dead no longer need to lie down, shifters no longer hide! Stand up! Be proud! Be the werewolf and vampire that you know you can be!!!"

Then, in a shocking display, Derek grabbed Stiles by the back of the head and he planted a heated, passionate kiss on his human's mouth. The crowd exploded in a deafening eruption of applause and shouts of approval and admiration. When Derek broke the kiss, he leaned in and shouted into Stiles ear to make sure he was heard. "Let's get out of here. We have some unfinished business to tend to." Stiles shook his head in confusion, asking what business, but Derek only grinned.

Bobby had also watched the display between his buddies and clapped along with the rest. When he noticed that Derek and Stiles were preparing to slip away, he decided to do the same. While the thrill of bathing in worship was exhilarating, he was tired. None of them had slept in the last two days and his body was not accustomed to strenuous activity.

With a smile and a promise to call her later, Bobby started to back away all the while Peggy was coaxing him to stay. "No, don't go yet. Please, Finstockie. Just wait for a little longer."

She told him she was anxious for him to meet some of her friends from the adult entertainment business and Bobby had to admit that it was tempting. Especially when Peggy told him that there was one young porn actress in particular who was dying to meet the Finstockman, and who was he to deprive her of her heart's desire. "Sure, fine, Peggy. Tell her I would be glad to...." 

Before he could finish, Peggy was waving her pudgy, flabby arm high in the air towards someone in the huge sea of people and shouting, "Pinky! Over here! Come on and meet him!"

Bobby Finstock froze on the spot. His mouth hung open and his eyes grew big as saucers as one small, slim, redheaded vampire wriggled through the mob. He knew her in an instant by the shimmy of her hips and the bounce of her double D chest. She was all that AND a bag of chips. She was his very own Pinky and when she finally threw herself into his arms, he was enormously grateful that, much to his surprise, this time he didn't faint.

"Oh, Bobby Finstock, you wonderful vamp you! I'm yours! Take me. Use me. Let me be your very own Pinky!!"

Bobby did the only thing he could. He wiped the drool from his mouth and he scooped her up in his arms as he shouted, "Vamps coming through! Step aside! Outta our way!!"

The laughing mass of people barked and parted like the red sea as Bobby swept his Pinky off to create their own piece of everlasting heaven. When they reached the curb, the only vehicle allowed to park there was the Governor's own limousine, which Bobby had no reservations about commandeering.

"Let's go, my man!"

The driver hesitated for only a moment. On one hand, this was n official vehicle, on the other hand, the driver was a werewolf whose services were being requested by the one and only Bobby Finstock. The solution was simple.

With a bow, he opened the passenger's door and Bobby tossed Pinky in where she hooted and bounced twice on the plush, leather seat. "Oh, Finstockie! You're an animal!"

In response, Bobby Finstock pounded his fists on his chest, he roared like the jungle beast he hoped to be and he leapt in on top of her.

The driver glanced in, flinched and quickly shut the door. He hurried around and jumped in behind the wheel and the limo sped off.

"Damn! That was CRAZY!" Stiles laughed as he tumbled in through the front door of Derek's apartment with the werewolf close behind. It had taken nearly an hour to work their way back into the Governor's mansion and find their way out the back door. Even then, they had been spotted in their attempts to escape and the crowds and paparazzi had followed them as far as Derek's building. There, the loyal residents had formed a barricade that no one but the happy couple could cross. 

And finally they were alone. Neither had slept in the past forty-eight hours. It was but a minuscule blink in time, yet it had been a huge shift in their universe. One full cycle that had seen them go from capture to rescue to a sunrise that saw a world of protest by werewolves who would no longer live in the dark shadows. It was an eternity of change in the snap of a finger.

Derek looked into the brown eyes that were tinged bloodshot red from exhaustion yet still glistened with love and excitement. "Are you tired?" 

Stiles paused before he answered. His body was past tired but his brain still swirled and raced at warp speed. "Yes and no. I can't remember the last time I slept but right now, I'm just too excited. So you said we had unfinished business. What is it?"

Derek tugged the t-shirt over Stiles head and he popped open the button at the top of his human's jeans while he softly whispered, "We need to get you formally bit and claimed"

The cool air drifting across Stiles heated skin, along with the words of promise and passion, made him shiver. "Really? You really want to bite me? I mean that wasn't much of a proposal but if it was a proposal my answer is yes. Please. I want very much to be gnawed on and claimed."

Derek hesitated in the removal of his own clothes and he scowled. "Stiles, baby, werewolves don't _gnaw._ We are elegant, graceful and deadly. We pierce and we bite."

"Huh? What? Oh, sure. Semantics. To-MA-to, to-MAH-to. Bite, Gnaw. Whatever. But the point is, there will be fangs, right?" Stiles jerked off the rest of his clothing and he stood proud, eager and growing harder by the second as he watched Derek shimmy out of his snug jeans. 

Derek rolled his eyes at the apparent lack of fear and respect for his wolf. "Yes, there will be fangs."

Once they were both naked, the mutual inspection of each other's body began. It was different than the quick grope and poke of before. The sunlight flooded through the tempered glass of the windows in the living room but it could just as well have been pitch dark as most of their investigation was done through touch. This time it was a worship of prospective property. This time, they wanted to know every hair, every muscle and every peculiarity that made the other man unique and special.

The werewolf was the first to reach out and make contact when his hand pressed against Stiles chest. Quietly, Derek moaned in ecstasy as the human's heartbeat reverberated beneath his palm. Immediately Stiles leaned in closer, his hand too sought to connect with the firm flesh before him. As if they had never touched before, they tentatively explored each other. Fingertips ghosted over skin that was hot and firm and soft.

The differences were thrilling. One chest had fine, soft dark hair while the other was covered with coarse black hair and heaved with excitement. Both hearts beat. Only one could hear them. They stepped closer and closed the small gap between them as their hands roamed lower. "Touch me, Stiles."

It was an unnecessary request as the backs of Stiles fingers were already trekking over the werewolf's quivering, flat stomach and bumping the hooded head of the hard, eager penis. "It's so beautiful. So hard and alive." 

Derek snorted at the peculiar description and silly concept of his pecker having a life of it's own. Before he could think of a witty response, he gasped as Stiles wrapped his hot hand around the long, thick uncut cock and pressed it against his own. He then rocked forward, causing them to rub and twitch against each other.

It was such a small movement, yet it sent a rush of heat and hungry passion surging through both their bodies. It elicited moans and puffs of air that carried words with no syllables and questions with unspoken answers. They wanted to lay down and they thought about the bed but it was so far away and walking there meant releasing their hold on each other, so for now, they humped and they clutched each other as they ground their cocks together in a near painful need.

"Wait, wait, here. Lay down. Watch the table...."

"Here? On the floor by the...."

"Yeah. Yes. Move your legs by...."

"How's this? Is there enough room to...."

"Yeah, that's good. Oh, God your body is so...."

"Fuck, Derek please, kiss me."

Stiles was stretched out on the hardwood floor. He was flat on his back and Derek slithered onto him like a snake on a hot desert rock. When the werewolf's weight settled over him, Stiles closed his eyes and groaned as his hips pushed upward and their damp cocks again aligned.

Smiling, Derek ran his hands up Stiles arms and gripped his boy's wrists and held them high over the human's head as he sealed their lips in a kiss of love and need. Immediately, Stiles opened up and Derek's tongue dove in. It licked and tasted as it searched every tooth and taste bud. When Stiles squished Derek's tongue with his own and sucked, it was Derek's turn to whimper.

This time it was Stiles turn to take the lead and he slipped his right hand from Derek's grip. He then pushed the werewolf's hand down between them, encouraging him to stroke and fondle Stiles throbbing cock. When the big hand gripped him, Stiles cock responded as a thick dollop of pre-cum oozed out and dribbled down his shaft. With an evil grin, Derek swiped his thumb across it and he brought the sticky substance up to his lips. When he was certain Stiles was watching, Derek's tongue darted out and he licked it off.

Stiles exhaled. "Oh, sweet, Jesus!" Immediately he spread his legs when he smelled the scent of his own semen on Derek's fingers and mouth. Stiles skin tingled and his crotch ached with his craving for the werewolf.

Derek chuckled darkly. His hand again returned to his boy's heated flesh and he began to lightly stroke. Stiles knew it was only polite to reciprocate, yet he lay there with his arms over his head and he soaked up the pleasure like a slug. His body hummed and his flesh felt as if it were on fire as the werewolf continued to pet and paw him. When he suddenly felt a long, broad finger slide between his butt cheeks and probe his opening, Stiles jumped with an "Eep."

"Shh. Just relax, baby. Feels good, yeah? You're so hot inside. I can't wait to pound into you."

Derek's words spurred Stiles into action and he grabbed his own thighs by the backs of his legs, hoisting them high and presenting himself up. Derek rose to his knees between Stiles legs and he sat back on his heels. He stroked his own cock gently as he studied the offering before him. His human was flushed and skin soaked with perspiration. His eyes were dark and dilated with wanton passion while his shaggy dark hair spilled onto his forehead where it stuck. Stiles cock was high and hard against his belly and his nut sack hung low and full. He was magnificent.

Stiles squirmed and wiggled with impatience. "Yeah. Fuck. Yeah. I want that too. I want to feel you become part of me. Climb inside my body, Derek. Don't forget to bite me. You promised to bite me."

"All in good time, pup. All in good time."

Derek stuck his forefinger into his own mouth to wet it then he returned it to the tight, wrinkled opening where he twisted and turned it as if he were trying to screw it into the small hole. When the tip finally breeched the ring of muscle, Derek watched as his finger slide in and out of the hot, twitching opening. Slowly. Shallowly. 

For Stiles, it was maddening. For Derek it was erotic. The werewolf had always been a big fan of finger fucking. He liked getting it but he firmly believed that it was more blessed to give than to receive and Stiles was so very appreciative. Soon, one finger became two and two became three. By now, Derek's own cock was screaming for attention and he knew by Stiles whines of desperation that the games had dragged on far too long. "Put your legs over my shoulders, pup. Raise your ass. Are you ready for me, pup? Do you want me?"

As his answer, Stiles heavy legs hooked over Derek's slim shoulders and with his palms on the floor, Stiles pushed and raised himself high for his werewolf's convenience. "Come on. I'm ready. Fuck me, please."

Derek placed the head of his cock against Stiles tight, wrinkled opening. He leaned over his boy's body and he paused. "This isn't just a fuck, love. This is a claim. It is us, joined and complete. If you accept my bite, we will be one forever and ever." 

Before Stiles could consider the gravity of Derek's words, Derek pushed and the head of his thick cock broke through the tight guardian ring. Without waiting for Stiles adjustment, Derek plunged in fully.

"AHH!" Stiles head tipped back and his hands latched onto Derek's forearms as the sharp pain of pleasure ripped through him. It shot from his ass and zipped up his spine like lightning. His vision blurred and his ears buzzed as the heavenly agony burned within him. 

The boy's cry of pain drove Derek's pleasure higher. Bracing his weight on his hands and arms, Derek lifted his ass and dragged his cock backwards before he again plunged in as deeply as possible. The squeeze of the hot, rippling muscles was incredible, so he did it again. And again. 

He shifted and leaned forward bending Stiles nearly in half. As he felt his boy's insides relax slightly and the sounds the human was making transformed from pained grunts to sexually charged groans, Derek went harder and faster. He wanted to take this slow and make it last, but he couldn't. It was a freight train was rushing down the track while its wheels shouted out a repetitious "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." and charged forward knowing it had no brakes.

"Now. Derek, now. Is it time to bite me? Please. Bite me."

Derek continued to slam his cock in and out of the hot, sweaty boy. "Damn, you are a pushy bottom. It isn't time yet. You will feel it when the time is right. You will know the bond. Trust me, baby. Trust me." 

Stiles opened his eyes and looked up into the green ones that gazed down on him. Stiles had no doubts and he did trust Derek. He trusted him with his life. In response, he smiled and nodded.

Finally, Derek grabbed one of Stiles hands and he placed it on the boy's own cock. Stiles took the hint and he fell into a rhythm of masturbation as his werewolf continued to plunder his ass. Together they rode the wave of sex and bliss until the overload of physical stimulation signaled the imminent arrival of a dual orgasm of monumental proportions. They could see it in the other's contorted face and feel it in the strained muscles.

When there was no more delay, Derek's features shifted. His soft green eyes turned ruby red and slitted. His forehead cracked and transformed into bony ridges, his side burns thickened, his ear tips sharpened and his fangs dropped and glistened in the light of the room. 

Stiles stared at the alluring, frightening sight and he shivered in delight. He felt a sudden, overwhelming attachment for the wolf as every molecule of his body craved the promised connection. 

"Yes, yes, please." He turned his head to the side and with no further encouragement, Derek struck. He lunged and his fangs sliced into where Stiles shoulder met his neck. At the first taste Derek spiraled into an orgasm that shook him to his toes and his cock filled Stiles bowels with hot thick seed. 

In that split second, Stiles felt every emotion and thought that Derek was having and he knew he had the choice to accept the bond or block it. Without reservation, it was accepted. There was a sting in his flesh and Stiles knew he had been penetrated. He had expected pain but there was only pleasure. It was a drug that, combined with the dick in his ass, was an addiction that he would never want cured. The startling knowledge of a bond between them snapped behind his eyes and his hand stopped stroking. 

It shook him to his core. He was owned. They were as one. 

When Derek's moan vibrated against his throat, it triggered Stiles own release and he toppled over the crest and into a brain-numbing orgasm as he shot strings of pearly, wet joy into his hand and onto his stomach.

Both men clutched onto each other as their spasms ebbed and waned. Their cocks twitched until they were just irregular, dry twinges yet neither hurried to disconnect. When it was done and done, Derek's fangs shrank back into normal teeth that did not fit into the wounds and his cock followed suit. He rolled off his boy and lay slumped at his side. Immediately Stiles rolled over to face him and he wrapped his arms around his werewolf. "I felt it, Derek. I felt your claim on me. I belong to you now, don't I?"

Derek kissed his boy gently on the lips. "Yes, baby. You are all mine and I am yours. We will tell the world. We will shout it from the mountaintops. It will be the best outing the universe has ever seen."


End file.
